“It is not a recipe, but a way.” It must be 10 years since Vera said this to me. We were making pasta and chickpeas in her small, organised kitchen, which was on the other side of the wall from my not-so-organised small kitchen. We were just about done and drinking coffee, the soup at a simmer. I was writing things down and asking questions, to which she was responding more with handfuls and tastes, rather than grams and minutes. Then she said it: “This is not a recipe, but a way.” It wasn’t a new or revelatory idea, we all know that most of the time cooking is not guided by exact recipes or precise measurements, but her words summed it up well, and the expression stuck.
Her way stuck too, a template for the thick bean soup with pasta variations of which I have written about many times: fry aromatic vegetables in olive oil for a soffritto, add a herb and cooked beans, then liquid, simmer, add pasta and cook until ready. Of course, when we make something, we may look to a specific recipe from specific places or people, to give something an authentic name. But most of the time we are cooking by “way” rather than recipe, following sketched rather than detailed maps; letting experience, taste and smell lead us. Baking is a different matter, which is possibly why it is not my strength.
I have been thinking of Vera a lot these last few days, because she passed away a week ago at 90 years old. We said goodbye to her in a church on the Gianicolo hill. It was extremely cold but sunny, and the church was full of diffused light, her large family and many friends. I kept thinking Vera should be here; she would have loved seeing everyone turned out smartly for her. She would have laughed at the tubby nun rushing to turn off the Christmas tree lights which had just short-circuited the heater.
Vera was always direct, elegant and precise – which she put down to being a quarter German – and truly kind. She was my first neighbour and friend in Rome. Looking back to those early days, it was quite something that we managed to communicate: I spoke barely any Italian and she had just a few words of English. But we did communicate, and spent many hours together.
She not only taught me how to make pasta and beans, but tiramisu, creme caramel, to pronounce gnocchi properly, as well as neck-firming exercises, which I still do. I can picture her sitting in her flat, her still dark hair set in curls, her good neck and fine features, her apron; and I can still see her hands cooking, and hear her saying: this is not a recipe, but a way.
Vera’s expression is fitting for today’s recipe, which isn’t really a recipe, although it is nice to have good advice specific to the dish, on this occasion from the wonderful Neapolitan food writer Angela Frenda. It is a way to poach a whole fish in a tomato and wine broth known as pesce all’acqua pazza – fish in crazy water, a wonderful name – the story being that Neapolitan fishermen turned water crazy with chilli and tomatoes to cook their catch. Tomatoes are not in season, and I know exactly where those I used came from, as it was stamped on the crate: “Gela fruit”– greenhouses about 10km away from our house in Sicily. I try to stay true to season as much as possible, but there are always exceptions. You could use tinned plum tomatoes or, better still, a tin of cherry tomatoes, or just save the recipe until summer. I have given specific quantities but they are not essential: lots of extra virgin olive oil, garlic, chilli, a bundle of parsley, tomatoes cooked until they have collapsed into a rich red, shining sauce, to which you add wine and water. What is so smart about this way is that you thin the sauce with wine and water for it to become a poaching liquid. This bubbles and steams fragrantly, which cooks the fish and, in evaporating, thickens, which means flavours are absorbed back in.
A whole fish is traditional, but this method can be adapted for fish fillets. On this occasion I cooked a whole orata (bream), which looks dramatic, but means having the faff of boning, but also provides a head to suck on. You can serve the fish with sauce and new potatoes. I like to lift the fish out and keep it warm, and then use the rich sauce, by now tasting of the sea, for spaghetti. Come to think of it, Vera also taught me to cook spaghetti, even though I knew how, because asking someone to show you how they cook something is one way to become friends.
Pesce all’acqua pazza– fish in crazy water
Adapted from Angela Frenda’s recipe for spigola all’acqua pazza in her book Racconti di Cucina (published by Rizzoli). If you don’t like tomato skins, use larger tomatoes and peel them first.
Serves 4
1 x 700g or 2 x 350g bream or seabass
6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
1 red chill or a pinch of red chilli flakes
500g cherry/medium-size tomatoes, or 2 tins of plum/cherry tomatoes
A small tied-up bunch of parsley
200ml dry white wine
200ml water
Salt and black pepper
To serve
400g spaghetti or some boiled potatoes
1 If your fishmonger hasn’t done so, gut the fish and scrape away any scales using the blunt edge of a knife.
2 In a large, deep frying or saute pan with a lid, warm the olive oil over a medium-low heat and gently fry the garlic (chop for a strong flavour, crush for a milder flavour). Once the garlic is fragrant, add the chopped tomatoes, chilli and the bunch of parsley. Cook, stirring until the tomatoes are soft enough to mash into the oil.
3 Add the wine and allow to sizzle for a minute, then add the water and a pinch of salt. Lay the fish on the sauce and cover, reducing the heat so the broth simmers. If you are planning pasta for the broth, bring a large pan of water to the boil, and time the pasta to be ready just after the fish.
4 A 350g fish will cook in about 13–15 minutes, a larger one in 20–25. I turn larger fish halfway through the cooking time. You will know when the fish is cooked as the eye will be cloudy, and if you use the point of a knife you will find flesh near the spine white, no longer translucent. Once it is cooked, lift the fish on to a warm serving plate. If the broth is looking thin, reduce it over a high heat, then either mix with the drained pasta, cooked potatoes or simply serve as sauce with the fish.
- Rachel Roddy is a food writer based in Rome, the author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard) and winner of the André Simon food book award.
