Wheatfield with Crows, by Vincent Van Gogh.
Recipe below: Busiate with Summer Tomatoes, Pistachios, Mint, and Basil
When do you think we’ll be able to travel again? Who knows. Luckily we cooks can travel in our minds and retrieve culinary aromas from days gone by. I’ve lately been thinking a lot about Sicily. When I was working on my second book, The Flavors of Southern Italy, I went to Trapani to visit a man named Wolfango Jezek, who had just started making excellent olive oil. When I got there, with my husband and his parents, I had no idea Wolfango’s wife had prepared a multi-course Trapani-style lunch for us. It was fragrant beyond belief. Everything—the Sicilian pesto, the roasted eggplant, the braised lamb, even the bread—seemed to hint of cinnamon. I asked her about that, I said, “Cannella?” At least I think I got that word out. She said, no, she hadn’t put any canella in anything. I didn’t believe her, though I don’t know why she would have lied.
Cinnamon does get used in Sicilian cooking. My mother’s father added it in place of the more commonplace nutmeg in dishes made with ricotta, for instance. It and almond, pistachio, orange, lemon, basil, mint, oregano, marjoram, bay leaf, orange flower water, rose water, and fennel are just some of the ingredients that contribute to the Sicilian palate that drives me wild in the kitchen.
Here is a tomato-based sauce that incorporates many of the flavors of around Trapani. It’s sort of a cooked version of the pesto Wolfango’s wife made for us that day, way back when we could leave our homes and get on planes. I’ve added fresh summer garlic, bay leaf, pistachio, basil, mint, pecorino, and, of course, a touch of cinnamon.
Busiate is a Trapanese pasta traditionally made by wrapping strips of dough around a busa, a grass stem. You can now find dried versions. The most interesting ones are made with ancient wheat varieties, notably tumminia. Gustiamo.com carries an excellent one made by Filippo Drago. It’s deeply wheaty and quite elegant.
Busiate with Summer Tomatoes, Pistachios, Mint, and Basil
(Serves 3)
5 medium summer tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and cut into medium dice
Sea salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 large shallot, cut into small dice
2 summer garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 fresh bay leaf
About ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
Aleppo pepper
½ teaspoon sugar
A big splash of dry Marsala
1 pound busiate pasta
A big handful of pistachios
A handful of basil leaves, lightly chopped
A smaller handful of spearmint leaves, lightly chopped
A chunk of mild pecorino cheese (Toscano or a Sicilian one; I’d avoid Romano, which tends to be harsh)
If your tomatoes seem really juicy, toss them in a bit of salt and put them in a strainer to drain for about 20 minutes (save the tomato water, as you might want it later to loosen the sauce).
Set up a big pot of pasta cooking water, adding a good amount of salt, and bring it to a boil.
Set out a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add a generous amount of olive oil. Add the shallot, and let it soften for a few minutes. Add the garlic, bay leaf, some Aleppo, cinnamon, and the sugar, and heat briefly, just to release all those fragrances. Next add the tomatoes and some salt, and cook at a low bubble for 5 minutes. Add a splash of Marsala, and let it heat through. Turn off the flame.
Drop the busiate into the water, and cook until al dente. It’s a somewhat soft dried pasta and in my experience doesn’t take quite as long as the more usual durum wheat kind.
When the pasta is done, pour it into a wide serving bowl. Drizzle on a tablespoon or so of fresh olive oil, and toss gently. Add the tomatoes, pistachios, basil, and mint and more Aleppo or salt if needed. Grate on about a tablespoon or so of the pecorino, and toss again. Add pasta cooking water or any tomato water you might have if it seems dry. Bring the rest of the cheese to the table. Serve.
Her name is Irene. The woman who cooked all those tasty dishes for you. You should probably add that name next to wolfango’s.
Yes, her name is Irene. I couldn’t remember. Thank you, Mario.