The other day, I read a long and detailed recipe for ravioli filled with paté-like meat and served with reduced meat glaze. It was so detailed, and in such small handwriting, that – like a novel with many characters and a complex plot – I had to keep doubling back to remind myself what had happened. Recipe and reading felt like hard work. Until the last line, which was like a skip, and suggested that any scraps from the ravioli should be boiled, tossed with butter and parmesan, and eaten by the cook immediately.
I was sitting at my desk with a hot-water bottle on my lap, and my mouth watered. Not for the ravioli, but for the scraps and offcuts – the maltagliati, or “badly cut bits” – some thicker than others, because they had folded or twisted, making them even better collectors of butter and grated parmesan. Sadly, however, eating ravioli scraps immediately involves making ravioli in the first place, and I wasn’t about to do that at 11.45am on a Tuesday (or ever, in the case of this particular recipe), but I did have a polystyrene tray of fresh fettuccine in the freezer (which doesn’t need defrosting), so I put on a pan of water to boil and got out the grater.
