Monday, March 21, 2011

CARBONARA


Rachel - a food blogger based in Rome - wrote in this funny post about the carbonara-phobia that only recently she managed to overcome. The trauma (Post Bad Carbonara Stress Disorder, in her words) had been caused by weird versions of the recipe that she tasted over the years in various restaurants outside of Italy. She mentions overcooked spaghetti, cream, bad bechamel sauce, mushrooms, scrambled eggs and on one especially unfortunate occasion, sausage.

Traditional carbonara is a very simple dish. It's made with 3 (three) things:

cheese
eggs
pork fat, like guanciale or pancetta

and nothing else - well, salt and pepper. And you need spaghetti, too. But no cream, no onions, no mushrooms.

This simplicity is also what makes the sauce deceptively difficult to prepare, because of course carbonara needs to be creamy, and the key to get it creamy using only these ingredients is to bring the temperature of the beaten eggs somewhere around 65º. Not enough heat will produce a very liquid sauce and cold spaghetti (bleah), while too much heat will produce scrambled eggs - this by the way is by far the most common mistake of a carbonara beginner, that often pours the eggs directly in the pan with the sizzling fat.

Now, let's ask a couple of legitimate questions. Is this worth the hassle? Why use only these three ingredients and noticeably raise the difficulty level when we can just throw in some cream and basically be 100% sure that the final result won't resemble a badly shaped omelette?

Answers: yes, it's worth the hassle, the semi-cooked-eggy personality of a traditional carbonara is unique in terms of texture and taste. If you add cream you get something that looks similar but that is actually different, just like Chicago pizza is different from traditional pizza napoletana. Don't get me wrong, it's perfectly fine to add cream, lots of people do it; it just won't be carbonara, it will be something else. Plus keep into account that the above mentioned semi-cooked-eggy personality is rather addictive, it's likely that once you get used to it you won't be able to add cream to your sauce anymore. And finally the preparation of traditional carbonara has an elegance of its own: getting your timing right, the simplicity of the moves... this kind of things.

Rachel's post is comprehensive, informative and clear, I would almost be tempted to link it and lazily skip the actual recipe part. But then again, like she herself points out, there are many carbonara variants and I think mine (the Italian-living-in-Madrid-with-no-easy-access-to-guanciale version) is worth putting on paper. Another very interesting one is Dario Bressanini's yolk-only type; see below for some more detailed comparisons.


A word on pasta

I use only long varieties: spaghetti, spaghettini, linguine, bucatini, et cetera. Some people use short pasta too (Rachel goes for rigatoni), but personally I like it less, I think the whole dish doesn't come together as it should. I admit this is highly subjective, though:).

Here in Madrid it's easy to find Italian brands such as Barilla, Agnesi or De Cecco, all good options. Thanks to Chiara I also found out not long ago that some Hipercor pasta (Hipercor is the house brand of El Corte Inglés supermarkets, in case you don't know) is actually produced by pastificio Garofalo, one of the best pasta makers around. So now I always buy that, it's excellent and cheap. Just check the look of the product name: if it's sort of fake handwriting, like this

it's made by Garofalo. There should also be a small Garofalo logo somewhere on the package.


A word on pork

Traditionally carbonara is made with guanciale, which is pig's cheek cured and peppered (I love the stuff:)). A common alternative would be pancetta (bacon); the most obvious difference between the two is that guanciale has more fat, i.e. the white part of the meat is largely predominant over the pink part.

You can use a number of Spanish products as replacements: panceta fresca, panceta curada or tocino if it has at least some pink part in it and it's not 100% fat. I would not use smoked products, they usually don't release enough juices when frying. Whatever you use, it should look something like this piece of guanciale:


 
A word on cheese

Tradition dictates pecorino romano, but parmesan is often used as a replacement; sometimes you have a mix of the two. Here in Madrid I would go for a 100% parmesan, as it's not hard to find, or maybe a very strong queso de oveja curado (seasoned sheepmilk cheese).


Ingredients for 2:

200g pasta
2 eggs
80g tocino/panceta/guanciale...
40 g grated parmesan
pinch of salt
pepper
a glug of extra virgin olive oil

Heat a large pan of salted water until it boils. In the meantime put the parmesan, two eggs and pinch of salt in a small bowl, then whisk them together with a fork. Cut the pork fat in small strips or cubes, then put it in a large anti-stick pan, with a bit of extra virgin olive oil.

When the water boils, throw the pasta in and at the same time start cooking the fat in the anti-stick pan, on medium heat - Rachel says it perfectly, it should be fried until translucent and crisp at the edges. If it reaches this state when the pasta is far from ready, just lower to a minimum the heat under the fat.

Around two minutes before the pasta reaches the cooking time written on the package, turn off completely the heat under the pork fat. After another minute, grab some tongs and quickly transfer the pasta (which should be almost ready) in the pan of the pork fat. In the process you will also transfer quite some salted water; this is ok, it will make the sauce creamy and tasty.

If the pork fat reacts to the pasta with a lot of sizzling, it means the pan is very hot, so wait another 30 seconds; if there is some sizzling but not too much, this is the moment: pour the mix of eggs and cheese on the pasta, then toss/stir until the sauce is evenly distributed (and hopefully, not too liquid nor too solid).

Transfer the pasta to the individual plates, top with a generous amount of pepper and grated parmesan cheese, then serve.


Variants

Rachel and Dario describe different ways of dealing with the crucial add-the-eggs moment: Rachel tosses the pasta in the pan with the pork fat, then removes it from heat and add the egg mix still in the pan; Dario has a less risky approach, as he tosses the pasta, move it to a bowl and only then adds the yolks. This way he is sure that the eggy substance won't get in contact with any very hot surface - then again, he is only adding yolks; if he added whole eggs the temperature of the whole thing might drop too much, resulting in a very liquid sauce. Since I use whole eggs, I usually prefer Rachel's approach.

A sauce made only with yolks is definitely more powerful and filling, and is usually "cut" with some of the boiling water used to cook pasta - that's what Dario does. Rachel uses whole eggs, but add a couple of extra yolks at the end, and insists a lot on the importance of adding not less than a full cup of water (for 4 people). I am sort of in the middle: I use whole eggs, I don't add extra yolks, as I find the sauce tasty and thick enough, especially if I am using deeply flavored fat; and some water gets added to the sauce when I transfer the pasta using tongs.

The bottom line is, you should try and experiment, see what you like. Just remember that the key moment (the part that can go wrong) in all carbonara recipes is always the "baking" of the eggs.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

REVIEW: VIAVÉLEZ

Asturian


Area: Bernabeu

Category: Heavyweight. It can reach Super-heavyweight if you go for the fancy wines

Having located this very interesting restaurant (Asturian with a twist, sounded like) close to the Santiago Bernabeu stadium, I called them to book a table, and I unknowingly picked the one evening when Real Madrid was playing at home. On top of that, I smartly decided to take the car to reach the restaurant, hoping it would be faster. As a result I got there in 10 minutes, found a parking spot in 45 minutes and managed to be extremely late.
So before you book, check if there is any football match on that day, and if there is, don't go by car.


The place

In terms of physical spaces, Viavélez is kind of a hybrid, like two different things piled up on each other: the restaurant, small and cozy with its dozen or so tables, and the more informal taberna at ground floor. Prices in the taberna are less steep, and often you can order the same food that is served downstairs (although portions seem smaller).

Everywhere the decor appears elegant and very modern, with lots of white and grey, an urban we-mean-business style that couldn't be further away from the checkered tablecloths and stereotype pictures that you would normally associate to venues with a regional connotation.

Because first and foremost, this is an Asturian restaurant: it is named after a pueblo located on the northern coast of Spain, and its menu is clearly founded on recipes that originated from that region.




The food

You can pick from a range of rather elaborate traditional dishes, like the famous fabada or the funnily-named patatas a la importancia. You can also go for simpler preparations, such as the salpicón de bogavante, or the impressive entrecote, a towering structure made of various slices of beef. In this case the ingredients being used are the real stars: simplicity brings out the freshness and tastyness of the building materials of the dish. Both meat and seafood here are of outstanding quality.

On top of all this, there is also a good amount of unexpected, as chef and owner Paco Ron throws in the pot some experimental haute cuisine, the kind that gets rewarded with Michelin stars. Things then can get pretty strange: see for example the bonito con chocolate y reducción de piña, or the whole bunch of very stylish desserts.

So we could say Viavélez is a hybrid also in a gastronomic sense, as it practices a very unusual (and very successful) blend of tradition and innovation. It basically combines the best of two worlds: on one side it makes an extreme effort in the selection of awesome ingredients, and it builds on an orthodox repertoire of perfectly executed recipes - the kind of things you would expect from an exceptional Asturian restaurant of traditional breed. On the other hand, it also shows a taste for the complex techniques and variations that are commonly associated to those fashionable Michelin-starred cocineros. In short, it's kind of a restaurant for all seasons, with something to offer to every possible kind of customer, to Whigs and Tories alike.


Anything bad?

I'd say the rules of the menu degustación are objectionable. Basically, this epic menu (really great, as it includes a lot of courses and allows you to sample many different things) can be ordered only if the whole table wants it, regardless if you are a group of six or four or two. This I found rather awkward: it obviously means that two people that fancy the menu degustación AND are sitting by themselves will get it, but if these same two people have brought friends that don't share the same preferences then nope, not possible, sorry. Maybe there is a logic behind this and it's just not obvious to me?

Not much else to whine about, to be honest. The service is great, it matches the expectations that you can legitimately have for a place of this level. The waiters have a very formal way of addressing you, and this can be kind of intimidating for a certain type of restaurant-goer; and maybe they are also a tiny bit too present, checking on you very often... nah, but I am being VERY picky here, truth is, service is just great, like I said.


Overall

Excellent. The wine list is also very good, lots of choice and quality, also in terms of dessert wines. Price of bottles goes from 21 euros up to thousands. And talking about price, this is not exactly a budget restaurant, but in my opinion the expense is actually justified by the quality of what you buy. Smartly enough, in-between courses they bring you lots of (like the French would say) amuse-bouche, free little portions of food, sort of like tapas or candies. So in the end you genuinely feel you got a lot of stuff for what you paid.