If you want to light a fire in the pasta world, just ask someone what these little guys are called. Even the ravioli versus tortelli debate is easier to settle than this one. Manti, fagottini, ravioli, cofanetti, lanterne. Whatever you want to call them, they look great, taste fantastic, and are one of the easiest filled pastas to make.

When we first decided to turn our little pasta tradition into a blog, posting a different pasta each week or so, I thought it would be a good idea to list out every type of pasta I could think of and make sure that we had enough weeks in us. As I approached 100 I decided we’d be fine. Then when, with a little additional research, I discovered that there are actually an estimated 350 varieties out there,, I had a little panic.

This week little Al and I have invented a very special pasta for our very favourite person. We’d be lost without this lovely thing. She’s the backbone of the house, knows us better than we know ourselves, and has effortlessly become the greatest Mamma of all time. When we talk about sitting down to pasta with the family, she is the family.

Little Al has managed to inherit a few of my more ‘difficult’ personality traits, but so far there’s been no sign of the calculated, scheming mischief that defined my own childhood. The prime stone against which I honed my blade of torment was my nonna. She did have pleasant diminutive nicknames for me, but my given names may as well have been ‘delinguente’ and ‘scustamato’ for their frequency and familiarity.

Handmade paccheri! Opinions are famously and aggressively varied as to what authentic Italian food is, and how it should be cooked. Pasta is no exception. Little Al and I value time-honoured recipes and pairings (it’s the basis of everything that we make), but we don’t believe that the love and joy of food should ever be stifled by tradition.

These days I make all kinds of pasta with all kinds of dough, but when I was a kid there were only four types. Don’t get me wrong, we enjoyed plenty of packet pasta – secretly but unanimously excited as my nonna apologised for the rigatoni she was opening – but when we did it ourselves, our repertoire was deliberately and appropriately limited.