Gnocchi

When people talk about good gnocchi, you always hear about how “light” they are, but I find that just because gnocchi are light doesn’t mean they’re good. More often than not, gnocchi taste and feel to me like boiled mashed potatoes or mushy dumplings. It wasn’t until I had good gnocchi, which, in addition to being light, had some texture and springiness to them, that I realized how good they could be. Matt worked really hard to ensure that our gnocchi had those qualities. This dough is very starchy and sensitive, so the gnocchi must be formed and served the same day the dough is made. You must use russet potatoes.

We serve this rich, meaty ragù alternately with gnocchi (page 172) and pici (page 168). When the ragù is tossed with gnocchi, the flavor becomes like a rich and delicious meat-and-potatoes dish. It manages to be exotic and familiar at the same time. We use only duck legs and not the whole duck because the meat from the legs is more moist and lends itself better to long cooking. You will probably have to special-order the legs from your poultry purveyor, so when you do, make sure to ask for the livers, too. Alternatively, you can make this ragù with one whole duck, cut into pieces. Not only will this be easier to find but also you’re guaranteed to get the liver with it.

You can use this recipe to make spinach gnocchi: Thaw 1 10-ounce package frozen spinach, very finely chop the leaves, and squeeze out the moisture. Add it to the potatoes in the bowl, and sprinkle with an additional 2 tablespoons flour. Formed gnocchi can be refrigerated on a floured baking sheet, uncovered, up to 12 hours.

Twenty kilometers from our home sits the bustling Latian village of Acquapendente. There we find our trustworthy pork butcher, our panificio di famiglia (family bakery), and the only shop between Rome and Florence where Erich can find the music of Astor Piazzola. Hence, Acquapendente is a sort of vortex for us. It is on early Friday mornings when it beckons us most plaintively, the day the market—the mercato—comes to town. It is a good-enough market at any time of the year, but steeled in late January fogs is how we like it best. From our home in San Casciano dei Bagni, higher up by four hundred feet and, in winter, sitting nearly always in crystal air, we descend the narrow, sloping road past the sheepfolds, past the ostrich farm, away from the new, gold sun, fresh from its rise, and into the thick, purply mists of the rough little place. Wrapped in our woolens we stroll the abundant tables of green-black Savoy cabbages and violet broccoli, baskets of potatoes and turnips unwashed of their Latian earth. Here and there are lit small, consoling charcoal fires in funny little tripod burners over which the farmers thaw their ungloved hands. Just outside the fray are the humbler posts, those that beg no rent, that are had for their predawn staking. The farmers, sober in the unpacified cold, unwrap their often meager stuffs—a basket of chestnuts, one of cauliflower, and once, a man, standing beside his little pile of pumpkins, held a brace of pheasant, still dripping their blood on the frozen ground, his booty from a predawn hunt—offering them at far lower prices than those asked by their more prosperous colleagues inside the village. It was there, too, at the Friday mercato in Acquapendente that a woman from Bolsena, who was selling just-ground chestnut flour, sat on the edge of her table and wrote out this most wonderful recipe. The smokiness of the chestnut flour enlarges upon the forest scents of the mushrooms, the whole combining into a sensual sort of rusticity. If chestnut flour is not to be found at your specialty store, substitute whole wheat or buckwheat flour and mix 3 ounces of canned, unsweetened chestnut puree with the mascarpone.

Gnocchi is one of those dishes that many home cooks shy away from. Whether they’re made of potatoes or cheese, the process seems mysterious—until, of course, you finally take the plunge and make a batch yourself at home. These ricotta gnocchi are quick and easy and the perfect launch into your gnocchi-making career. Once you get the hang of rolling them off the tines of the fork, there’s nothing to it. And when you’ve become the accomplished gnocchi-maker you never thought you’d be, you’ll find all sorts of ways to serve them. Try them with a fresh tomato sauce, or simply toss them in this sage brown butter.

This red sauce is a steroid ingredient that we use to pump up wimpy dishes like gnocchi or in chicken gravy for a quick sauce chasseur. Most of our sauces are done this way, baked in a good French enameled cast-iron pot. We’re not too fussy about the type of tomatoes we use, just canned and whole; San Marzano will do. If you cannot obtain pig skin from your butcher, then a pig’s trotter, halved lengthwise, works, too. You could also add Smoked Baby Back Ribs (page 153) to the sauce before serving it with the gnocchi.

Making your own gnocchi is not as difficult or as time-consuming as you may think. Don’t be afraid to try it! Sweet potatoes, a favorite Mexican ingredient, give the dough for these gnocchi a subtle sweetness and added nutrients (sweet potatoes are rich in fiber and vitamins A, B, and C). A simple butter-sage sauce is all you need to finish off this satisfying dish.

At our home, when we were newly arrived immigrants, for Sunday dinner it was either gnocchi or garganelli with sugo. The sugo, a rich sauce, was made of either chicken or cubed veal or pork—all second cuts of meat—which created a first-class sauce. The sugo does take two to three hours to make, so, if you have no time for the sugo and have a good piece of Gorgonzola, try this sauce. It will take no more than ten minutes once you have the gnocchi done.

This is the butter version of the Raw Olive Oil dressing for pasta on page 107. I make it at least four times a week, whenever Lorenzo and perhaps some of his cousins want “cheesy pasta” or gnocchi.

If you think all gnocchi are potato-based bite-sized dumplings (as do most Americans), you are in for a surprise—and a great treat. Roman-style gnocchi di semolino are much more like polenta, made from a cereal porridge that is cooked and cooled until firm, then cut into small pieces and baked with a rich topping of butter and cheese. Yellow semolina (ground durum-wheat flour) even looks a bit like polenta, but it gives the dish a flavor and texture that are quite distinct from cornmeal. Gnocchi di semolino are usually served as a first course, instead of pasta, during a Sunday meal in a Roman household. It is a good dish when you have big crowds, since you can prepare it even the day before, leave it in the refrigerator covered with plastic wrap, and then just put on the butter and cheese and bake it in a hot oven where you might have a roast going. Because it holds its temperature for a while, you can set it on the table family style, with a serving spoon. Let people just take as much as they want. Traditionally, these gnocchi are cut into 1-inch rounds with a cookie cutter, but often, to avoid any waste, they are cut into squares or diamonds, which is just as good. Taleggio is a creamy cheese and I love it on this dish, but even just a Pecorino Romano will give you a nice flavorful crust.

Gnocchi in Friuli are made with the same potato-and-flour dough as the round, ridged gnocchi made elsewhere in Italy, the kind we are most familiar with. But Friuli-style gnocchi have a couple of tempting distinctions. First, you’ll find that their shape is different—they are smooth, slender cylinders that are actually faster and easier to form than round gnocchi. This shape gives you an option in finishing the gnocchi: you can boil, drain, and dress them just as they come out of the cooking pot, or, after they’re boiled and drained, you can gently fry them in butter until golden and crisp on the outside—and then dress them—having gained another layer of flavor and texture. Second—and unique to gnocchi and other pastas in Friuli—is the dressing of melted butter, sugar, cinnamon, and smoked dried ricotta. This melding of sweet, salty, spicy, and smoky may seem exotic at first but will quickly captivate you. Milk products like ricotta are frequently preserved by smoking in Friuli, and smoked ricotta (drier than fresh) is a common household product. It is available here now, but if you can’t find it, use ricotta salata as a good alternative (see Sources, page 340). And if you have a smoker, you can coldsmoke the ricotta salata, for a flavor closer to what is enjoyed in Friuli. You can dress gnocchi friulani with other sauces—basil pesto, tomato—or serve with another regional dish like Beef Goulash, page 58.

Gnocchi made with gries (farina) were a favorite of mine as a child—perhaps because they were often cooked for holiday dinners. And I have especially fond memories of the gnocchi di gries made by my great-aunt Nina while we lived with her in Trieste, before we left for the United States. And though Zia Nina is gone, here is the way my mother, Erminia Matticchio, prepares them for our family today. The little gnocchetti are delicious and simple to make. Because they cook in broth, and take on the flavor, homemade broth is always best, and together they make a festive and satisfying soup course. The gnocchi are a favorite soup garnish for children, and a good dish for infants starting to eat solid food. To make a larger amount of gnocchetti, simply multiply the recipe. They keep well, so you can make a big batch, drain them after cooking, and pack in ziplock freezer bags; refrigerate or freeze. Reheat in boiling broth (if frozen, defrost them first).

Sweet gnocchi are among my favorite childhood food memories. These were never dessert but a main course for the children: if the adults were to have gnocchi with venison guazzetto or other game sauce, some of the dough would be specially prepared just for us kids, stuffed with prunes or marmalade (or both) in winter, or with fresh ripe plums in late summer. I loved them all and remember that if we had three or four we were full until the next meal. I make these prune and plum-jam gnocchi for my grandchildren today, but now the adults want them too. And though I still consider them a main dish, on occasion I do serve them for dessert. They also make a wonderful accompaniment to roast duck or goose—and a lovely breakfast! To make sure these have a sweet, crunchy crumb coating, drop the cooked gnocchi into the bread-crumb mixture while they are still wet from the cooking pot. If you let them dry, the crumb topping will have difficulty adhering.

Offelle are just like ravioli, but what encloses the filling is potato dough rather than pasta dough, which lends a special soft texture. Here’s how I coordinate the elements of this recipe so everything comes together perfectly. First I cook and rice the potatoes for the dough (as in the preceding recipe). While they’re cooling, I make the sausage-spinach filling and let it cool. Then I mix the dough, roll it out, and stuff it to form plump offelle.