Confessions of a Reformed Cheese Snob
I was a parmesan cheese snob. There, I said it. And not for just any parmesan, mind you, my cheese had to be Parmigiano-Reggiano and had to be aged at least 24 months. Nothing else would do. Ever. Under any circumstances. God forbid that I subject my completely unrefined palate to anything lesser. If I was at an Italian restaurant and wanted to put cheese on my pasta, I could feel the cringe run up my spine as I sprinkled on whatever unworthy white stuff they had in the cheese shaker.
Until recently.
A couple of months ago, I decided to up my pasta game. I sometimes made fresh pasta but my pasta definitely wasn't great. Even my best efforts turned out to be just okay. The only thing making it worth the effort was that even mediocre fresh pasta (like mine) beats dried pasta any day, but my work definitely wasn't memorable by any standard.
I wasn't sure what to do until I thought back to an episode of 'Chef's Table' where Massimo Bottura brought in a little old lady from the Modena neighborhood where his restaurant is to teach his chefs how to make pasta. If anyone knows how to make pasta, it's little old Italian ladies who have been making pasta every day for the last sixty years, right? They're the quiet Masters of the Art. And where do you find little old Italian ladies making pasta? Why, YouTube, of course. YouTube, literally, has videos of anything and everything. God bless the internet.
Sure enough, after a few false starts, I found 'Pasta Grannies'. 'Pasta Grannies' is just what it sounds like; it's videos of Italian grannies making pasta. Vicky Bennison, the creator of the channel, is a British lady who tools around Italy making short and very watchable videos of Italian women, many in their eighties and nineties, who make pasta that I could only dream of making. I watched a bunch of videos, went to Sam's Italian Market to get some specialty ingredients, and began to cook.
One thing I noticed was that the Pasta Grannies rarely used Parmigiano-Reggiano. They used local fresh cheeses to a great extent and when they needed a dry cheese, they frequently turned to Pecorino Romano. What were they doing to that beautiful pasta, using cheese unworthy of their handiwork? How could these wonderful cooks be committing such a cardinal sin?
I wanted to substitute. I really did. But I also wanted to be faithful to their recipes, at least at first. I told myself that I could "fix" them later. Then I started cooking.
God, was their pasta good. And the cheese flavor in the cappelletti and the agnolotti... it was like a salty, cheesy explosion in my mouth. Holy crap, I realized, these ladies were on to something. If you were in my kitchen, you probably would have seen the proverbial light bulb go on above my head.
Of course these women were on to something. Any one of these ladies has forgotten more about good cooking than I know (and the more I learn, the more I realize how little I actually know). With my epiphany, my preconceived notions about Parmigiano-Reggiano were shattered forever. Gone was my cheese snobbery in a puff of 00 flour.
What I realized, yet again, was that there was a place for every ingredient. For pasta in a heavy sauce with lots of strong flavors, I needed the sharper Pecorino Romano to cut through all that and add its note to the dish. Parmigiano-Reggiano, with it's more delicate and nutty flavor profile, would get drowned out in a sea of tomato and garlic. Everything was about balance and the needs of the dish. I didn't stir fry in extra virgin olive oil. I didn't make beef stew with filet mignon. Ingredients had their places, their roles in the opera. There were places for the stars singing their arias but there were equally important places for the wide array of singers in the chorus. A delicate soloist would get lost in the volume of the chorus but will shine on center stage.
I still love Parmigiano-Reggiano. To me, nothing beats the rind of old parmesan cheese, with it's intense, aged flavor. If I'm shaving cheese on top of a salad or roasted asparagus, you can bet I'll have my block out, aged at least 24 months, of course. But in my cheese drawer these days is also a block of Pecorino Romano, waiting for its call to the stage.
Until recently.
A couple of months ago, I decided to up my pasta game. I sometimes made fresh pasta but my pasta definitely wasn't great. Even my best efforts turned out to be just okay. The only thing making it worth the effort was that even mediocre fresh pasta (like mine) beats dried pasta any day, but my work definitely wasn't memorable by any standard.
I wasn't sure what to do until I thought back to an episode of 'Chef's Table' where Massimo Bottura brought in a little old lady from the Modena neighborhood where his restaurant is to teach his chefs how to make pasta. If anyone knows how to make pasta, it's little old Italian ladies who have been making pasta every day for the last sixty years, right? They're the quiet Masters of the Art. And where do you find little old Italian ladies making pasta? Why, YouTube, of course. YouTube, literally, has videos of anything and everything. God bless the internet.
Sure enough, after a few false starts, I found 'Pasta Grannies'. 'Pasta Grannies' is just what it sounds like; it's videos of Italian grannies making pasta. Vicky Bennison, the creator of the channel, is a British lady who tools around Italy making short and very watchable videos of Italian women, many in their eighties and nineties, who make pasta that I could only dream of making. I watched a bunch of videos, went to Sam's Italian Market to get some specialty ingredients, and began to cook.
One thing I noticed was that the Pasta Grannies rarely used Parmigiano-Reggiano. They used local fresh cheeses to a great extent and when they needed a dry cheese, they frequently turned to Pecorino Romano. What were they doing to that beautiful pasta, using cheese unworthy of their handiwork? How could these wonderful cooks be committing such a cardinal sin?
I wanted to substitute. I really did. But I also wanted to be faithful to their recipes, at least at first. I told myself that I could "fix" them later. Then I started cooking.
God, was their pasta good. And the cheese flavor in the cappelletti and the agnolotti... it was like a salty, cheesy explosion in my mouth. Holy crap, I realized, these ladies were on to something. If you were in my kitchen, you probably would have seen the proverbial light bulb go on above my head.
Of course these women were on to something. Any one of these ladies has forgotten more about good cooking than I know (and the more I learn, the more I realize how little I actually know). With my epiphany, my preconceived notions about Parmigiano-Reggiano were shattered forever. Gone was my cheese snobbery in a puff of 00 flour.
What I realized, yet again, was that there was a place for every ingredient. For pasta in a heavy sauce with lots of strong flavors, I needed the sharper Pecorino Romano to cut through all that and add its note to the dish. Parmigiano-Reggiano, with it's more delicate and nutty flavor profile, would get drowned out in a sea of tomato and garlic. Everything was about balance and the needs of the dish. I didn't stir fry in extra virgin olive oil. I didn't make beef stew with filet mignon. Ingredients had their places, their roles in the opera. There were places for the stars singing their arias but there were equally important places for the wide array of singers in the chorus. A delicate soloist would get lost in the volume of the chorus but will shine on center stage.
I still love Parmigiano-Reggiano. To me, nothing beats the rind of old parmesan cheese, with it's intense, aged flavor. If I'm shaving cheese on top of a salad or roasted asparagus, you can bet I'll have my block out, aged at least 24 months, of course. But in my cheese drawer these days is also a block of Pecorino Romano, waiting for its call to the stage.
