Homemade Malloreddus

From
Lidia Bastianich, Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy (2009), page 366. Alfred A. Knopf.

About the Book
Lidia Bastianich is a highly successful restaurateur, television personality, and cookbook author. Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy is another of her cookbooks, and focuses on a few well curated recipes from some of Italy’s 20 regions. The recipes are well tested, the instructions are clear, and in it, one can find many interesting and uncommon dishes from throughout Italy. Many of the recipes in this book have been featured on her television show Lidia’s Italy, which, if you’re a fan of the show (I am), is a plus.

What’s the Dish?
It’s time. After growing up with an Italian mother, and cooking lots of pasta, I am still, frankly, not all that comfortable with homemade pastas. I’ve done it, with mixed success, and have decided that it’s something I’ll be focusing on over the next few months. Many cookbooks offer different ways to make fresh pasta — and the techniques vary a lot, for a variety of reasons.

So we’re kicking things off with Lidia Bastianich’s recipe for homemade malloreddus, from Sardinia. They are small, handmade dumplings, which are excellent with a sausage-tomato sauce (check back tomorrow), or just some butter and cheese.

This is an interesting pasta for a few reasons. First, you don’t need a pasta rolling machine, or eggs. You just use semolina flour, water, and saffron. To make it, you steep the saffron threads in warm water, then use that same water to make the pasta. The saffron is an expensive addition, but can be omitted if necessary (I’m fairly certain).

To make the malloreddus, the semolina flour is run through a food processor, and the saffron water is gradually added. Once the dough is “smooth, soft, and stretchy,” it is pressed into a disc, wrapped in plastic, and left to rest at room temperature. After that, the dough is broken into pieces, rolled into a long log, then cut into small pieces. Then, to give them their shape, they are gently pressed with the thumb into the backside of a cheese grater, and rolled upward. The result are textured, pressed little dumplings.

Number of Attempts
1.

Mistakes
I made a couple of mistakes, but neither affected the results. I actually made these before I had a kitchen scale (man, it sure makes life a lot easier), so I had to adjust the ingredients until the texture was right. As a result, I wound up making more malloreddus than I meant to. No complaints here.

The other mistake is attributable to a continuing theme on this blog: I’m a moron. Here’s a tip: if the contents of your food processor are getting stuck, use a wooden spoon or rubber spatula to lift them out. Seems obvious, right? Well, this was the second time I thought my hands would be a good tool for this. Both times, I tried to grab the dough, and grabbed the blade instead. So I sliced the crap out of my thumb, which makes it a lot harder to roll out dough afterward. Maybe I’ve finally learned my lesson.

Modifications
See above.

Good Surprises
I was worried that since my ratios were starting off wrong, that the malloreddus wouldn’t turn out well. I was wrong. They are also surprisingly durable little guys.

Bad Surprises
My thumb (again, see above).

How Was It?
Malloreddus are almost like a cross between gnocchi and fresh pasta. They’re heavy, and a little chewy, and frankly, really damn good. I’m a huge fan.

Would I Make It Again?
Absolutely. You can even make the dough in advance and freeze it for another time. While I will always sing the praises of dried pastas (don’t you dare use fresh pasta for a vongole), these are luscious, addictive things. They go especially well with fatty, meaty things (like bacon and eggs). But you can also just toss them with some butter, fresh tomatoes, Parmesan, and basil, and nobody in their right mind will complain.