The Story
It’s time to go back to basics, and it doesn’t get much simpler than flour, water, and onions. This week we’re tapping into our roots with the perfectly imperfect Calabrese fileja. Although we make all kinds of pasta these days, and tend to use egg doughs more often than not, a lot of the pasta that we made and ate growing up was just flour and water. In fact, most of the food that we enjoyed was really cucina povera, imported to Australia relatively unchanged from how it was cooked by generations before us back in Italy. For me, something about that connection always makes these dishes a little special.
Yes, I’ll say it upfront: it’s not the prettiest plate, and it is one of those meals made with whatever’s available in the kitchen and garden (despite originally using the famous Tropea onion, we could only ever find and cook this with brown ones). But because of that, it’s one of the dishes that keeps me firmly connected to my past. I’m so fortunate for the life and family that I have now, and I’ve always carried at the front of my mind the stories of struggle and sacrifice that granted me this life. But there’s something about cucina povera that goes deeper. It evokes memories that aren’t my own. It makes me think of my bisnonna dressing as a man so that she could go and earn money clearing rocks from the fields; it makes me think about my Nonno stepping off the boat in Fremantle. My mum, the first born here in Australia, facing racism, sexism, having to justify why she should have an education. All of those people who struggled before me. These dishes embrace the same simplicity that gives us hope and joy at those hardest of times. The pasta is inconsistent and ragged, the sauce has three ingredients, four if you really want to splash out. But because of that it’s cooked and shared with such deep love and purpose. So while we love us a bit of fancy pasta, this week’s dish is something that truly comes from the heart.
In that tradition of making do, we’ve prepared our fileja with a mix of semolina and dark rye flour, because that’s what we had lying around! And although it wasn’t deliberate, it occurred to me as I was kneading the dough that I didn’t have a knitting needle to form them with, so little Al lent me his pliers and we raided the cupboard for a coat hanger to snip up.
Our sauce is made with regular red onions, which are a vague approximation of the Tropea onions that this dish is based on. Contrary to popular belief, red onion varieties don’t necessarily have more sugar in them compared to white and brown, but their lower level of pyruvic acid does allow the sweetness to shine through more. Cooking them up with a little white wine and garlic, then adding in some salty hard cheese at the end makes for a delicious, comforting, and subtle balance of flavours.
The Pasta
Once you’ve finished ransacking drawers for skewers or knitting needles, pillaging cupboards for coathangers, or snapping aerials off the cars of those neighbours you never really liked anyway, form a flour well and pour in your water. Note that this pasta benefits from being a little on the dry side.
After the dough’s rested, roll it into long ropes, chop it into short lengths, and then drape and roll it around the skewer.
To get that imperfect, slightly open appearance, drape it loosely and use your fingertips to gently roll it back and forwards. If you’re too fastidious, you’ll end up with bucatini!
For the sauce, sweat the onions with the garlic for a few minutes, before adding the wine and cooking covered for 20. Grate in the cheese, drop in your cooked fileja (lifted straight from the pot without draining), and give it a good toss. Plate it up with a heap of cheese and a crack of pepper!
This is a really simple and forgiving recipe, and a great pasta to make with the whole family. So grab everyone you can, and get in the kitchen!
Happy cooking (and eating),
– Al & Al.
Equipment
- Long metal skewer or knitting needle
Ingredients
Pasta
- 160 g dark rye flour
- 140 g semolina
- 150 g water
Sauce
- 2 tbsp olive oil extra virgin
- 600 g red onions finely chopped
- 2 cloves garlic
- 200 ml white wine
- 30 g Parmigiano-Reggiano grated
- Salt and pepper to taste
Instructions
- Combine the dark rye flour and semolina, and form into a well. Gradually add the water into the centre and stir into the flour with a fork until it holds together as a shaggy mass.
- Knead vigorously for 10 minutes, then seal in cling wrap and rest for 30 minutes, away from heat and direct sunlight.
- While the dough rests, sweat the onions and garlic cloves in the oil over medium-high heat for 3-4 minutes, stirring constantly. Add the wine, drop the heat to low, and cover. Cook for another 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
- As the onions cook, roll the pasta dough out into long thin ropes, of about 1cm diameter. Chop into 10-12 centimetre lengths. Wrap each piece loosely around a metal knitting needle, skewer, or long piece of thick wire and then roll back and forwards, pressing gently with your fingertips. The dough should stretch along the length of the wire as you go. If your pasta seals into complete tubes like bucatini, but you’d prefer partially open fileja, allow the pasta ropes to dry out a little before rolling. Transfer to lightly floured baking paper lined trays. If not cooking immediately, refrigerate uncovered for up to one week.
- Drop the fileja into a large pot of lightly salted boiling water and cook until al dente, 5-8 minutes.
- Finish the sauce by stirring in the cheese and seasoning, then use tongs or a scoop to transfer the pasta directly to the pot without draining. Toss well, and then serve with extra cheese and a crack of pepper.
