Bending Rules

There are certain things which are just not done in the culinary world. For example, the Italians, as I have often been told, do not combine seafood and cheese. It is something of a foodie law on the peninsula. Any self-respecting diner, therefore, wouldn't dare to ask for a sprinkle of parmesan for their spaghetti con le vongole. The same attitude prevents any chef worth his whites from offering such a pasta on his menu. Every waiter I know scoffs a bit when a customers asks for a side of grated cheese to go with their sardine and fennel pasta. Trust me, it's a no-no.

And it is a no-no for good reasons. First, cheese and seafood don't, generally, mix. When was the last time you wanted to melt a bit of cheddar over your pan-fried salmon? Second, and I've mentioned this before in relation to pasta, most people who reach for cheese when eating pasta really want a bit of salt. Try it. Sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt on your next pasta wand watch your parmesan cravings evaporate.

There are many such rules governing the dos and don'ts of cooking. Taken together they make up a sort of cooking law code, full of contradictions and conflicts and anachronistic beliefs. A great deal of it is still useful, as the laws are based on observation of what things work and what things do not.

The cooking of dried beans, which can be done by simply boiling them, has a list of rules attached. First once must rinse the beans, then submerge them and discard any floating ones. Next a certain amount of oil is added to the post and the beans must be slowly brought up to a simmer and then cooked ever so slowly until they are just cooked through. At no time during this process is any salt to be added to the water, according to traditional wisdom, as this results in (depending on who you ask) mushy beans, or beans which never cook through properly. Not salting is the key rule here, as it is contrary to every other cooking method, where food is seasoned at the beginning, in the middle, and at the end of cooking.

Another cooking process with a litany of requirements is that of braising meats. I get quite passionate about the whole procedure myself, and consider many of the steps indispensable. While the method varies a bit from cut to cut, one step remains in nearly every braise recipe I've ever read: sealing the meat. The idea is that the cut has to be seared on all surfaces in order to lock in the moisture. Any meat not treated thus risks the chance of drying out in the braise.

Many of these rules, actually, amount to little more than superstition. Beans, it turns out, don't really differ much in the cooking no matter when you add the salt. This is based both on my observations and on those of Mexican food expert Rick Bayless. He notes in Mexico: One Plate at a Time that there seems to be no difference between beans salted at the beginning of cooking and those salted at the end. Nevertheless, for no good reason at all, I still salt my beans at the end of cooking.

Likewise for the searing-step in braising meats. While conventional wisdom might state that browning a chunk of meat “seals” it, there is no evidence this is actually so. In fact, apart from the advantages of flavor, searing meat makes no difference to a braise at all.

Even knowing the fallibility of such culinary laws I still believed that seafood and cheese absolutely do not mix in Italy until I arrived mid afternoon on the island of Capri. After a wander through the comically steep streets and a sunset trip down to a tiny grotto with matching beach (comprised mostly of sea-worn glass and rounded bits of ancient, glazed roof tiles), we stopped to eat. The restaurant, filled half with tourists and half with locals (with a separate price structure for each, no doubt) offered a small selection of mostly pasta dishes.



My attention was drawn to one in particular: “Farfalle con gamberetti, zucca, pancetta e parmigiano.” Right, my Italian is neigh-on nonexistent, but I know that “gamberetti” is prawns or shrimp, and “parmigiano” is cheese. Seafood and cheese. What? In Italy? But... I... thought....

Oh, what the hell. I ordered it. It was delicious. Besides, who's surprised that the Italians don't follow rules, even self-imposed ones?

Farfalle con Gamberetti, Zucca, Pancetta e Parmigiano

or, rather

Farfalle with Prawns, Pumpkin, Pancetta, and Parmesan

It's not often that the translation into English comes up sounding better, but I like the alliteration going on here. And it's tasty. This will make 2 generous serves.

250g farfalle (that's bowtie pasta), cooked and drained and kept warm
½ butternut pumpkin, peeled and diced into small cubes
100g pancetta, cut into small cubes
1 bunch sage, leaves only
3 Tbsp butter
200g peeled prawns, uncooked
100g parmesan, shredded

Heat your oven to 200ºC. Toss the pumpkin in a touch of oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper and roast on a baking paper-lined tray for 15-20 minutes, or until soft and beginning to color. Remove from oven. Meanwhile, in a large pan on low heat, combine the diced pancetta with a tiny bit of oil and slowly render out some of the fat, cooking until the meat colors and becomes crisp in places (but not dried out). Remove from the pan with a slotted spoon, leaving the rendered fat behind.

In the same pan, gently cook the prawns in the reserved pancetta fat until they are just cooked through. Remove from the heat. At the same time, in a separate pan, melt 2 Tbsp of the butter on medium heat until it starts to foam. Add the sage leaves and, by adjusting the heat and adding he remaining butter a bit at a time, keep the butter foaming – remember, too cool and the butter will stop foaming, too hot and it will stop foaming. Keep a happy medium and the sage leaves will crisp and the butter will brown. Remove from the heat, but do not drain.

In a large bowl combine all th ingredients, excluding the cheese. Toss them all gently (including the butter in the pan with the sage), season, and serve with a generous sprinkling of cheese on top.