Gnocchi
There is an odd Italian expression that goes:
“Eat gnocchi on Thursdays, tripe on Saturdays.” No one seems to agree
on the genesis of this phrase, though many believe it somehow relates to the
Christian practice of eating fish on Fridays. In any case gnocchi have been a
longtime culinary demon of mine, lurking in the back of my mind (and my recipe
file). Myths of their excessive difficulty along with the present widespread
fear of carbohydrates have kept me from making them for many months, but last
night, it being a Thursday, I decided to give them a whirl. Don’t think
for a moment that Saturday will bring
tripe.
Gnocchi are potato dumplings that
date back to 12th century Italy. Like so many once-traditional-now-chic dishes
(see polenta), gnocchi were first made with the simple and ubiquitous regional
ingredients that the poor could afford. The main ingredients thus varied from
potatoes to flour, semolina, even bread crumbs. Basically, gnocchi were seen as
convenient and caloric vehicles for sauce. Their mottled crevices were in fact
created as sauce-friendly niches. The word “gnoccho” in Italian means
little lump, or knuckle, which describes the shape of gnocchi. Of course
“gnoccho” also means knucklehead, so take that for what you
will.
The trick about gnocchi is to keep
them light - little airy potato-y pillows. This has been built up in my head
over time as a near Herculean feat. It is the central drive of all that is
written on gnocchi, and every recipe claims to contain the secret to perfect
fluffiness – bake the potatoes, boil them with skins on, don’t
overcook them, peel them while they’re hot, use a ricer, mash them with a
fork, let them cool, mix them while they’re warm, add egg, don’t add
egg, boil them in water, boil them in milk. The list goes on. I have long been
warned of the sticky and unmanageable dough, admonished strictly to avoid adding
any more flour than is absolutely necessary. Flour will tame the dough, but it
will also make the dumplings heavy and
dense.
After last night, I am no closer
to the truth. I boiled three beautiful Idaho Russets. I promptly peeled and
riced them; I fluffed them across the counter to cool. I mounded them in a
little hill and quickly worked in an egg, some parmesan, and no more flour than
what was called for. My dough came together beautifully – was never sticky
or unmanageable. I even forced myself to add at least the minimum amount of
flour in the recipe for fear that they might otherwise fall apart while cooking.
I rolled out pieces of dough into long snakes, cut them into little chunks and
shaped each along the tines of a fork. I dropped them in small batches into
boiling water and when they floated for a minute or two, gently spooned them
into a simmering sauce.
In short, I did
everything perfectly.
Why then were my
gnocchi so utterly boring? Completely insubstantial and bordering on, dare I
admit it, mushy? Light they were, but too light, without the desired spring-back
of say – a cake ready to come out of the oven, or a marshmallow. These
gnocchi were depressingly limp. Did I choose the wrong potatoes? Did they get
soggy during boiling? Did I add too little flour to the dough? Is that even
possible?
I can’t tell you how
anticlimactic it was, after all this time, finally to make an attempt, a
seemingly valiant effort, and have the result be so BLAH. I am disheartened
even now just thinking about it.
So as
not to end on such a low note, I should tell you about the night’s one
great success: Pink Vodka Sauce. What the gnocchi lacked in flavor and
excitement, this sauce made up for one hundred fold. The recipe comes from The
Best Recipe, and simply calls for garlic, chopped canned tomatoes, vodka, cream,
and seasonings. Red pepper flakes give it zip. This sauce became an instant
favorite and may even be good enough, possibly, to inspire a second go at
gnocchi.
Posted: Fri - January 2, 2004 at 03:59 PM