Erica De Mane

When was the last time I made stuffed shells? When did I last eat them? I don’t know. Twelve, fourteen years ago? I don’t see them around much anymore, unless, possibly, they have them at Sbarro’s. Does Sbarro’s still exist?

My mother made them often. They were her default manicotti, having a similar taste but being less work, because she didn’t have to shove the stuffing into floppy, slippery tubes. Her filling was usually just ricotta mixed with cheese, parsley, and a touch of nutmeg, and she topped the shells with tomato sauce and grated pecorino. I can’t remember if she used mozzarella. She must have, occasionally. Sometimes she covered them with a meat sauce, if she had some left over. And then the whole thing was baked. I loved it. All the kids in the neighborhood loved it. Many, miraculously, showed up at our table on stuffed shells night.

For years now, sadly, I’ve thought of the dish as an Italian-American embarrassment, inelegant and even dopey, probably because I associate it with crappy restaurants. But stuffed dried pasta is a real thing, invented in Italy’s south, where dried pasta rules. I haven’t eaten stuffed shells often down there; in Naples I’ve more frequently seen paccheri, sort of a giant rigatoni stuffed with ricotta and mozzarella, often baked, really just a mini version of manicotti.

Why have I been thinking so much about stuffed shells lately? Maybe because my mother is in the hospital. They certainly remind me of her. But also I’ve been thinking about their shape. Italians often model foods on nature, especially pastas. Orecchietti, farfalle, vermicelli, and conchiglioni, the large shells I’m talking about here (the word means big sea shells), are good examples. This tradition speaks to my pantheistic heart.

The stuffed shells I grew up with and ate all around town were almost always prepared pretty much the same way. That’s probably another reason I dropped them when I started running my own kitchen. Culinarily speaking, and possibly in other ways as well, I like nothing better than to take a tradition and mess it up a bit. I think it’s time to bring this homey dish back and maybe infuse it with an air of grace. Not too much; just enough to make it exciting again.

Conchiglioni with Ricotta, Saucisson Sec, and Arugula, with a Tomato and Rosemary Sauce

(Serves 4)

1 pound giant pasta shells
Salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups whole milk ricotta
1 teaspoon ground allspice
Black pepper
A large chunk of pecorino Toscano cheese, cut into tiny cubes (you’ll want about 3/4 cup cubed), plus about ¾ cup grated
6 thick slices saucisson sec*, the casing removed, the sausage cut into tiny cubes (again, about 3/4 cup cubed)
Baby arugula*, lightly chopped (about 1 packed cup)

For the sauce:

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 large shallot, cut into small dice
1 thin carrot, peeled and cut into small dice
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
5 large sprigs rosemary, the leaves chopped
1 35-ounce can San Marzano tomatoes, well chopped, plus the juice
½ cup homemade or high-quality purchased chicken broth
Salt
Black pepper
A few drops of sherry wine vinegar

*I chose saucisson sec because it tends to have a softer texture than many Italian dried salamis. The brand I most often use is Les Trois Petits Cochons. But if you find a not-too-hard soppressata, for instance, by all means go ahead and use that instead.

*I use arugula in this stuffing, but in the past I’ve made lasagna filling by mixing radicchio, another bitter vegetable, with the ricotta. I love the way the flavor of radicchio marries with rosemary’s taste.I sauté it first to take the edge off. You can substitute it for the arugula, if you like.

Set up a big pot of pasta cooking water, and bring it to a boil. Add salt. Drop in the shells, and cook until al dente. Drain them, and briefly run them under cold water to cool them. Let them drain again, and then toss them with a little olive oil so they don’t stick together.

In a large bowl, mix together the ricotta, the allspice, some black pepper, and little salt. Give it all a brief mix, and then add the cubed pecorino, the saucisson sec, and the arugula. Drizzle in a little olive oil, and mix well.

Make the sauce: In a large skillet, heat the butter and a drizzle of olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot and carrot, and sauté until softened. Add the garlic and the rosemary, and sauté for a minute to release their flavors. Add the tomatoes and the broth, and cook at a medium bubble, uncovered, for about 8 minutes. Season with salt and black pepper, and add a few drops of the vinegar.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Choose a baking dish that will hold all the shells without crowding. Drizzle a film of olive oil onto its surface.

Fill the shells with the ricotta mixture, and place them filling side up in the dish. (I had a bunch of broken shells that I couldn’t use, so I wound up with leftover filling. If you have any left over, try tossing it with hot penne. Really good.) Pour the tomato sauce over the top, drizzle with a little fresh olive oil, and sprinkle on the grated pecorino.

Bake until hot and bubbling, about 20 minutes.