Erica De Mane

Recipe in text below: Maccheroni with Baccalà, Black Olives, Pastis, Basil, and Spicy Breadcrumbs

One of the aromas ingrained in my culinary soul is the slightly nauseating but still alluring smell of baccalà standing upright in wooden barrels, looking like snow-covered roadkill and smelling of fishy death. Razzano’s Italian shop in Glen Cove was where I first came up against it, that dark fish smell mingling with a strong hit of provolone. Powerful. As a child I first took it as an assault, but after a few visits to that wonderful food shop, the putrid smell went from a gag in my throat to miraculously good. At some point I stopped telling my father I’d wait in the car. I needed to smell it again and again.

Now I love the aroma of baccalà, and also the ritual needed to prepare it for eating. My recipe here is an improvisation on a Sicilian version of pasta with baccalà usually called alla ghiotta, which translates, I’m thinking, as lady glutton style. Salt cod is rich, especially when brought together with tomatoes, olives, wine, onion, garlic, sometimes capers, and lots of herbs, so I guess the dish was so good you couldn’t stop eating it, or, specifically, women couldn’t stop eating it. Often it includes potatoes, in which case it can be made with or without pasta. I wanted the pasta, so I left out the potatoes.

Southern Italians use baccalà more than they use stoccafisso, the air-dried version of preserved cod. Baccalà tends to be meatier and have a stronger, brinier flavor that I really love. Quite different from fresh cod. A unique taste. When buying baccalà I look for packages that contain thick middle cuts, not just scrawny end pieces. In my experience they take two days of soaking, changing the water repeatedly, to be rid of excess salt. I love the funky, briny smell baccalà releases into my kitchen as it gives up its salt to a big bowl of cold water. You’ll see it’ll start to swell and look whiter.

To make my maccheroni with baccalà, get yourself a one-pound package of salt cod, and start soaking it in a big bowl of water, changing the water a few times. At night, stick it, with its water, in the refrigerator. The next day take it out and let it sit out, changing the water a few more times. By evening, taste a piece from the thickest section. If it still tastes really salty, change the water again and put it back in the fridge for another night. By next morning, after rinsing it again, it should be sufficiently desalted. I’ve never known it to take longer than that.

Place the baccalà in a wide-sided pan. Add water to just about cover, a big splash of dry vermouth, a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, a few fresh bay leaves, and a few peppercorns. Turn the heat to medium, and get the water up to a simmer. Then turn the heat down a little, cover the pan, and simmer gently until the cod flakes easily when you poke it with a knife. That should take about 8 minutes. Don’t cook it past this point, or it’ll get tough. Take the cod from its poaching liquid, and put in on a plate. Keep the liquid. When the cod is cool enough to handle, break it into 1-inch chunks, discarding any bones or skin you might come across.

Set up a pot of pasta cooking water, and bring it to a boil. Add salt. Add a pound of maccheroni and give it a stir. I used Martelli’s I Maccheroni di Toscana, which is like a ridged, curved ziti (I ordered it from Gustiamo). I’ve also seen this shape referred to as sedani (which means celery, though it doesn’t look like celery to me). Rigatoni or regular penne would also be good here.

While the pasta is cooking, get out a large sauté pan, and set it over medium heat. Add a big drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil. Add a chopped shallot, a chopped fresh red peperoncino, a sliced garlic clove, a fresh bay leaf, and a palmful of ground fennel seed. Let it all soften for about 2 minutes. Add 2 pints of grape tomatoes. Season it with a little salt (keeping in mind how much salt you’ve got left in your baccalà), and let it cook until the tomatoes just start to burst, about 8 minutes. Add a splash of vermouth and a little  of the cod cooking liquid. Add the broken up baccalà, a handful of pitted olives (I used Kalamatas), and let it all warm through for a minute or so. Turn off the heat, and add a few drops of pastis.

When the pasta is al dente, drain it and pour it into a large serving bowl. Pour on the baccalà sauce and a big drizzle of fresh extra-virgin olive oil. Add a handful of lightly chopped basil leaves, and give it a good toss. Taste to see if it needs salt.

Top each serving with a sprinkling of spicy sweet breadcrumbs. I made them by crushing a bunch of red pepper taralli with the side of my knife.

This’ll make four generous servings.