What was Italian cuisine like before the tomato arrived from America? Pasta alla gricia gives us some idea. Widely considered the ancestor of the more famous bucatini all’amatriciana, it is a simple dish that, according to at least one legend, originated among shepherds in the mountains around the town of Amatrice, being made from pasta, cheese, cured pork, all things that the shepherds could carry around with them for days as they grazed their sheep.
The thing that makes pasta alla gricia special is guanciale, or cured pork jowl. Rubbed with salt, pepper and spices before it is hung for at least three weeks, guanciale has a more assertive taste than its better known cousin pancetta. It is quite fatty, too, and its rendered fat lends lusty flavor and unctuousness to this rustic dish. Truth be told, guanciale—and not pancetta—is the preferred ingredient for amatriciana and carbonara, too, but in pasta alla gricia it really is the indispensable star of the show.
Although less well known than other iconic pasta dishes from the region, you could consider pasta alla gricia as the mother of them all. Add some eggs to this dish, and you have a carbonara. Add tomatoes, and you have an amatriciana. Take away the guanciale, and you have a cacio e pepe… Yet another example of the Italian genius for drawing out almost endless variety from the few humble ingredients.
Ingredients
Serves 4-6
- 500g (1 lb) pasta (see Notes)
- 400g (15 oz) guanciale (or pancetta)
- 200g (7 oz) grated pecorino romano cheese
- Salt
- Freshly ground pepper
Directions
Cut some good slices from the guanciale, trim off the tough bottom skin, and cut into strips.
Sauté the strips in a skillet over gentle heat until the guanciale has rendered quite a bit (but not all) of its fat and has lightly browned.
Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add a good pinch of salt and then your pasta. Cook until al dente.
Drain and add the pasta to the skillet, along with a ladleful of the pasta water. Sauté the pasta in the skillet for a minute or two, until the pasta water has reduced into a kind of creamy sauce.
Turn off the heat and add the pecorino cheese and a generous grinding of black pepper. Mix everything together vigorously until the cheese has completely melted into the sauce. (This operation is much like making a cacio e pepe, and our tips for that dish apply equally here.)
Serve immediately, with more grated cheese and freshly ground pepper on top.
Notes on Pasta alla gricia
You can make pasta alla gricia with either a short pasta, typically rigatoni or mezze maniche, or a long pasta, typically spaghetti, bucatini or tonnarelli aka spaghetti alla chitarra. But it’s versatile and lends itself to all sorts of shapes. However untraditional, I bet it would go well with shells, for example.
As mentioned, guanciale really is a must for making pasta alla gricia. You can find in better Italian markets. But if you can’t find it in your area, you can order it online. And if you fall back on pancetta, the dish will still be delicious—just don’t call it pasta alla gricia.
Some people add a bit of peperoncino to their pasta alla gricia but, since capiscum is a New World import like the tomato, it is surely not original to the dish. (Some say even the black pepper isn’t original.) And, despite what you might read in some English-language recipes, an authentic pasta alla gricia does not include onion or garlic or, for that matter, herbs like sage.
There are different stories about the name gricia. Perhaps the most common is that it is named after Grisciano, a tiny village in the area where the pasta originated. Others say that gricia is a bastardization of grigio, the Italian word for gray, since the custom of frying the guanciale in an iron skillet supposedly lent a gray cast to the dish. Yet another story has it that it comes from grici, the name Romans gave to the inhabitants of the area. Another says the dish comes from Grigioni, the name given in the Middle Ages to German and Swiss bakers who, when they immigrated to Rome, turned to curing pork. And so on. I guess we’ll never know for sure.
Post scriptum
Life can be so strange. The above post was written earlier this week, before the terrible earthquake that shook central Italy, tragically destroying the town of Amatrice. When I first heard the news, I thought I should perhaps delay posting out of respect. But then I thought, no, let me go ahead and publish this recipe as a tribute to Amatrice and its wonderful culinary legacy. And, indeed, I guess I’m not alone. It seems the internet is swelling with recipes for amatriciana. Its older sibling, pasta alla gricia deserves attention, too.
For those wishing to help the victims, this article provides several links to relief agencies.
Ingredients
- 500g (1 lb) pasta (see Notes)
- 400g (15 oz) guanciale (or pancetta)
- 200g (7 oz) grated pecorino romano cheese
- Salt
- Freshly ground pepper
Instructions
- Cut some good slices from the guanciale, trim off the tough bottom skin, and cut into strips.
- Sauté the strips in a skillet over gentle heat until the guanciale has rendered quite a bit (but not all) of its fat and has lightly browned.
- Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add a good pinch of salt and then your pasta. Cook until al dente.
- Drain and add the pasta to the skillet, along with a ladleful of the pasta water. Sauté the pasta in the skillet for a minute or two, until the pasta water has reduced into a kind of creamy sauce.
- Turn off the heat and add the pecorino cheese and a generous grinding of black pepper. Mix everything together vigorously until the cheese has completely melted into the sauce. (This operation is much like making a cacio e pepe, and our tips for that dish apply equally here.)
- Serve immediately, with more grated cheese and freshly ground pepper on top.
The post Pasta alla gricia: The Mother of Roman Pastas appeared first on Memorie di Angelina.