Pasta e patate has saved our lunch and dinner more times that I care to remember. Yet far from being a weary last resort, which it can be, it is still one of my favourite things to make, to serve, to eat. I was taught to make it by my friend Ezio, a gently opinionated Calabrian who cooks for his large family, and however many visitors happen to be around, calmly and extremely well. Like most things Ezio cooks, his pasta e patate is simple: onion, carrot, a celery stick, a couple of potatoes, lots of very good olive oil (which is of course key), and some pasta. I admit to having been wary as he began chopping, for as much as I love both pasta and potatoes, I did wonder about the double-starch beigeness of it all. Wariness soon faded. The beauty of this dish is the way the potato collapses, giving you a slightly thickened broth in which you cook pasta. The starch of the pasta then thickens everything further. Black pepper and grated cheese jolt everything nicely to finish. Nothing clever here, nor impressive: just a pleasing, satisfying bowlful.
As with most home cooking, anarchic by definition, there are infinite variations and opinions about how to make this dish. However, unlike discussions about carbonara and amatriciana, which can get fierce, discussions about pasta e patate and other minestre (thick Italian soups/stews) are mostly gentle. My partner Vincenzo suggested that this is because, for many Italians, this sort of minestra, dished up from the pan, is the embodiment of childhood nourishment, transporting them to another time, maybe. Gentle opinions, but opinions nonetheless. A friend from Bologna adds meat broth instead of water, a homemade or a very good stock cube, which produces an altogether bolder dish. A Neapolitan friend likes the soffritto reinforced with guanciale, the final panful enriched with provola cheese for a consistency so firm that the spoon almost stands to attention. The addition of herbs, although not original I am sure, is my idea. I like rosemary, the classic Roman sidekick for potatoes (on pizza, or with roast lamb) whose strident sap-green, piney flavour works incredibly well. In the absence of rosemary, bay gives a nice musty note. As for garlic, some people like to add a clove, two even, chopped in with the soffritto, or smashed and then pulled out once it has lent its scent – you will know better than me on this one.
One thing I will stress the importance of is the extra virgin olive oil, with its grassy scent and seductive mix of butteriness and bitterness. It really is the fragrant foundation of this dish, and then brings out the flavours of other ingredients. Treat it as a key ingredient rather than an afterthought, seek out the good stuff with a specific provenance. Somewhere in Italy makes sense here, but if you find a better Greek or Spanish one then opt for that (rather than a poor mass market brand that comes from goodness knows where). True, a bottle of good extra virgin olive oil for, say, £10 or £12 ($20) is an expense whether you’re in Italy or further afield, but it is an investment in something that will transform the taste of your food. We have a pretty strict budget, so I forsake lots of other things in order to have good extra virgin olive olive oil, ideally from Sabina in Lazio or southern Sicily. Taking the lead from home cooks and teachers I trust, I use it liberally for everything – sautéing, frying, dressing, doing my split ends, buffing the wooden table...
As I said, nothing complicated here, ingredients you will most likely have in the fridge. It is the sort of dish you could get going the minute you walk through the door while you still have your coat on. It them simmers away, warming the kitchen and scenting it with rosemary, while you get yourself sorted. This is an occasion to spezzare – break spaghetti into 3cm-ish bits – which always feels a slightly rebellious act, but I should probably get out more. Once you have added the broken bits, or other pasta, you need to keep an eye on the pan, stirring so it doesn’t stick, checking you have a consistency you like. Pasta e patate is best if you let it sit for a few minutes so the flavours settle, after which have spoons at the ready for some good, beige comfort.
Pasta and potatoes (pasta e patate)
Treat this as a set of guidelines rather than strict instructions. When it comes to the detail, you know better than me.
Serves 4
1 onion
1 stick of celery
1 medium carrot
A sprig of rosemary or 2 bay leaves
2 medium potatoes (about 600g of any kind)
6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1.4 litres water or light stock of some sort
170g pasta (quadrucci, pastina, farfalle, or broken spaghetti)
Salt, black pepper and pecorino or parmesan
1 Peel the onion and carrot and then dice along with the celery. Peel and cut the potato into chunks. Warm some olive oil in a heavy-based pan over a medium-low heat, then fry the onion, carrot and celery (along with a pinch of salt) until soft and translucent. Add the bay leaf/rosemary and the potatoes and fry, stirring so each cube is coated with oil for a couple more minutes.
2 Add the water and another small pinch of salt, bring to a lively simmer and then reduce to a gentle simmer for 15 minutes or until the potato is very soft – you can break it up slightly with back of a wooden spoon. Add the pasta, raise the heat slightly and cook for another 10 minutes or so or until the pasta is cooked, stirring and adding a little more water if it looks to be getting too thick. Taste for salt (remembering you are probably going to add salty cheese) and grind over some black pepper. Serve with some grated pecorino or parmesan stirred in, or simply a streak of olive oil.
- Rachel Roddy is a Rome-based food blogger and author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard, 2015)
