How to make perfect fresh tomato pasta – recipe

The Guardian

3 days ago

'How many versions of fresh tomato sauce can there be?' Catherine, the generous winner of a charity auction to help me with the research for this column, asks when I tell her what recipe we'll be making. On the contrary, I tell her, I've had my work cut out to narrow the selection here down to a mere seven, not least because the simpler the dish, the more argument there is over how it should be prepared, especially in a place as passionate about its food as Italy.
Happily, I'll have a lot of assistance, because Catherine has raised yet more money for Hospitality Rides (a fundraising initiative for two very worthy industry charities, Only a Pavement Away and the Licensed Trade Charity), by selling tickets to get other people to do my job for me, effectively. In an attempt to sweeten the deal, I tell my assembled minions (all hospitality professionals, though none, sadly, Italian chefs) that, according to Emiko Davies, this raw sauce is 'quite possibly the best way to enjoy really good, ripe summer tomatoes – as well as making the most of spending as little time in front of a hot stove as possible'. Then I make them chop an awful lot of tomatoes in the service of perfection.
Tomatoes are, in fact, a good place to begin, because, as the late, great cook and author Marcella Hazan writes in Marcella Cucina: 'The tomato is the thing. There is hardly anything to the making of the sauce, which really consists just of assembling the ingredients and letting them go to work, but the tomatoes have to be ripe and tasty.' Lynne Rossetto Kasper, host of the long-running Splendid Table podcast, agrees: 'Exceptionally good tomatoes and olive oil you want to eat with a spoon are the only requirements for this recipe.'
She recommends 'a variety of tomatoes, if possible – the punchy little sweet 100s or sungolds, mellow beefsteaks and maybe one or two sweet yellow or orange ones', a mixture that certainly looks pretty. Rowley Leigh counsels cherry tomatoes ('datterini, if possible') in A Long and Messy Business, the River Cafe's Classic Italian Cookbook a mixture of plum and cherry tomatoes, and the late restaurateur Alvaro Maccioni suggests mixing fresh and sun-dried fruit in his book Alvaro's Mamma Toscana. While a range of colours pleases the eye, I'd advise going instead for whatever pleases the palate most; we have such a short window of really decent tomatoes in the UK that it's important to select for flavour while you can. My preference is always for plums, if they look good. As I explain to the group while they good-humouredly set about seeding several kilos of fruit, there's a reason these are the variety most often found in tins: they have a higher ratio of flesh to watery seeds than most, which means that, in practice, you get more for your buck. None of us, it turns out, is a fan of using the sun-dried variety in this dish, which, according to Annica, take away from the 'purity of the dish', but perhaps we're not quite over the 1990s yet.
However, while I hope that Hazan, Del Conte and all the other gods of Italian cookery will forgive me, I'm with Daniel Gritzer when he writes on Serious Eats that 'I've never eaten some pasta al pomodoro crudo, spat it out and angrily exclaimed: 'Who, pray tell, left the skins and seeds on these tomatoes?' The full tomato has never bothered me in a pico de gallo, it's never bothered me in bruschetta and it doesn't bother me here. Frankly, there's a lot of flavour in those seeds, and it'd be a shame to waste it.' So, by all means peel and seed, if you like, but personally I wouldn't bother – ripe tomatoes are a pain to peel, and there's a fair bit of wastage.
(You may also, as in Davies' alternative to her roughly chopped fruit, smash the tomatoes in a mortar, but I prefer a chunkier sauce here; also, if you go down that road, you will probably need to peel them, too.)
In the interest of keeping things simple, I bypass recipes such as the one in Lucio Galletto's The Art of Pasta that are 'quasi-cotto', or lightly cooked, in favour of ones that are entirely raw. That said, Del Conte does put her sauce mixture in a moderate oven just while the pasta is boiling, I assume to warm it and perhaps to encourage the juices to run.
Marinading rather than cooking is the name of the game here, as Hazan explains: 'Although this sauce is completely raw, you might say that it cooks itself. It is a fine demonstration of the dynamic reaction that ingredients can have to each other, if you give them the chance.' Some happily quick and easy versions give them this chance just for the few minutes it takes to cook the pasta. The River Cafe recommends half an hour, Hazan a full hour. and Del Conte 'at least two hours', the latter adding that 'it does not matter if you leave the sauce to marinate for longer'.
If you don't have half an hour, be reassured that such culinary authorities as Davies, Leigh and Rossetto Kasper don't bother with this step at all, though my testers are struck by the richness of the River Cafe recipe: 'The tomatoes have almost broken down to make a sauce,' Catherine observes. At least 30 minutes is ideal, though 15 is better than nothing, and two to three hours won't hurt.
It's also worth bearing in mind a top tip from Rossetto Kasper, which I almost miss because it's not included in her actual recipe: 'I discovered a trick for making pasta with raw tomato sauces taste lustier. Slightly undercook the pasta. Drain it. Spoon the juices that raw sauces always throw off into the empty pasta pot. Set it over medium-low heat, add the pasta and toss until the juices are absorbed, then add the pasta to the sauce.' Very little extra work, and well worth it.
'Only boxed factory-made dry pasta is a good match for this sauce,' Hazan instructs, 'and spaghettini, thin spaghetti, is the most strongly recommended shape.' Nevertheless, good old spaghetti is the most common choice in the recipes I try, although the River Cafe's ravioli is a hit with my testers, even though I choose one with an entirely unsuitable asparagus-based filling. Also popular is Maccioni's linguine, which Catherine declares has 'more about it than the spaghetti', and the aforementioned spaghettini, which Anna and I enjoy for its springy, almost ramen-like consistency. (Rossetto Kasper's alternative fusilli does not, according to Olivia, 'look quite as classy … it's a bit of a bully texture-wise, so the tomatoes get lost'.)
A common complaint as the dishes go around the table when we're finally at the tasting stage is that some recipes are a bit mean on the tomato. Maccioni uses a mere four tomatoes for four people in contrast to Rossetto Kasper's bountiful 1.35kg.Naturally loth to reduce the quantity of pasta, I've opted for a similarly generous serving of tomatoes, bearing in mind that this is a pasta dish and not a tomato salad (or, God forbid, a pasta salad. Do Italians even eat pasta salad? Please let me know in the comments below).
This is where things really get interesting around the table. Good olive oil is, of course, a must, but the two best-rated recipes, from Hazan and the River Cafe, also contain red-wine vinegar – something I would invariably sprinkle on a fresh tomato salad. The appreciative noises ('almost restauranty', someone says proudly) this elicits strongly suggest that it has to be part of my final recipe – though Claire, in particular, is a fan of the fresh simplicity of Davies' vinegar-free version.
Salt is also a must; a tomato is nothing without it, and there is a feeling that those in charge of Del Conte's recipe (I name no names) have perhaps been a little parsimonious on that front: 'I only said did it ask for seasoning?' Karina demands, laughing. Lesson learned; be generous with the salt, unless you fancy Hazan's slightly more complex Ligurian take complete with black and green olives, capers and anchovies, in which case a little restraint might be wise. We all love these additions – 'a really interesting mix of flavours and textures', Claire observes – but I've left them as optional extras, because I do feel that in a pasta con pomodoro crudo the tomatoes should be the star attraction. (The same goes for Maccioni's mozzarella, which, delicious as it is, makes some of us feel as if we're eating an M&S pasta salad on a train.)
Herb wise, basil is the most popular choice, and the clear favourite; Leigh's mint, meanwhile, gets mixed reviews. No one can detect Hazan's marjoram or parsley, and fennel seeds divide opinion; we all agree we love them in other dishes, but here, as Anna says, they overpower the tomato. Davies' optional chilli flakes prove more of a crowdpleaser, but, again, they're very much gilding the lily.
Garlic, however, is another must, though the quantity is up to you. It's not cooked, so I've been quite restrained, but you may prefer a punchier, fierier result.
'No cheese is necessary with this sauce,' Del Conte says sternly in her brilliant collection On Pasta. Rossetto Kasper disagrees, and her salty pecorino gets many compliments – not least because, well, who doesn't love cheese? That said, Leigh's wonderful savoury, crunchy anchovy pangrattato, or crisp flavoured breadcrumbs, also have their fans – 'these smell really good', Victoria says happily. Though they're certainly not foundational, I do like the contrast in texture, as well as the fact that they're easily veganised (simply omit the anchovy for a fully plant-based dish).
Though this isn't a pasta salad, I'm reliably informed that pasta con pomodoro crudo can be served warm or at room temperature – but 'never chilled', Rossetto Kasper counsels, as if the very idea of cold pasta wasn't enough to warn you off in itself. This makes it an utterly brilliant dish for a summer evening: make ahead, enjoy yourself, then casually toss into bowls with a sprinkling of basil when it's time to eat. The Italians know a thing or two about warm weather dining, it turns out.
Prep 15 min
Cook 12 minSteep 30 min
Serves 4
800g ripe but firm tomatoes, preferably, but not necessarily, plum 2 tbsp red-wine vinegar
¾ tbsp flaky salt, plus extra for cooking the pasta4 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, plus 1 tbsp extra if making pangrattato2-3 plump garlic cloves, peeled4 tbsp dry breadcrumbs (optional)1 tinned anchovy fillet, drained (optional)400g spaghetti, or spaghettini1 small bunch fresh basil
Optional extras60g olives, black, green or a mixture, stoned and chopped1 tbsp capers (rinsed if packed in salt), chopped4 anchovy fillets (rinsed if packed in salt), chopped½ tsp chilli flakes
Cut the tomatoes into fairly small dice (this is much easier if you have a sharp knife) and put them and all their juices in a bowl with the vinegar, half the salt and all the oil.
Mash the garlic to a paste with the remaining salt, then stir that into the tomato bowl, too, along with any of the optional extras.
Leave to sit for at least 30 minutes, though longer won't hurt (but don't leave it so long that it requires refrigeration).
If making the pangrattato, put a tablespoon of oil in a small frying pan over a medium heat, then mash in the anchovy, if using, until dissolved.
Turn up the heat, stir in the breadcrumbs and fry until crisp and golden. Season if not using the anchovy, then set aside.
Cook the pasta in plenty of salted water until just shy of the recommended cooking time. Meanwhile, drain the tomato mix, reserving the juices.
Drain the pasta. Pour the reserved tomato juices into the empty pan, set it over a medium heat, then return the cooked pasta to the pan and toss until it has absorbed the juice. Turn off the heat, tip in the tomatoes and toss well.
If serving immediately, scatter over the pangrattato and tear in the basil; if serving at room temperature, do so just before serving.
Pasta con pomodoro crudo – is it a primo or a salad? Which pasta do you favour? And what's your top tip for bringing out the best in the tomatoes?