Fresh pasta!

For Christmas, I gave Sarah a Pasta Machine. Basically, it’s a pair of hand-cranked rollers that you use to flatten pasta dough into a very thin sheet, and then another set of rollers that cut that sheet into linguine or spaghetti.

Twice now, we’ve made pasta with it, and it is by far the best pasta I’ve ever had. (Mind you, I haven’t been to Italy yet, so that statement may change in the future.) And as it turns out, making pasta is a relatively simple process. I was intimidated before we tried it, but now that we’ve done it a couple times I know just how straightforward it can be.

Here’s how we did it. First, you make the pasta dough. You can look up all sorts of recipes for this, but when it comes down to it, you crack a few eggs into a bowl and then you mix in enough flour to make a dry, but not crumbly, dough. The dough can’t be sticky, because pasta machines aren’t designed to be thoroughly washed at all; in fact, the directions say you should just wipe it down with a dry cloth, and occasionally add a little olive oil to the ends of the rollers to keep the machinery lubed. So if your dough is too sticky, it could get stuck inside the machine’s works, gumming it up and possibly causing it to rust, which you don’t want.

The first time we did this, we used two eggs and ended up with enough pasta for two servings. Last night, we used four eggs and ended up with enough pasta for about eight servings. Next time, we’ll use a dozen eggs and feed the entire state of Rhode Island.

We generally start with about one cup of semolina flour per egg, and then add a little more flour if the dough’s too sticky, or a little bit of water if it’s too crumbly. Then, you knead. Semolina is a flour with a very high gluten content, so the dough quickly becomes extemely solid and claylike, and takes serious effort to stretch and fold. At this point, it’s ready.

Tear off a small chunk, about the size of a golf ball, and flatten it with your hands. Then, with the rollers set to their thickest width, roll it through, flattening it and elongating it. If necessary, you can fold the edges or pinch together any holes. Ideally, your flattened dough will be oblong and less wide than the rollers. Keep rolling it through, adjusting the rollers one notch tighter each time. We usually stop at notch 3, which results in thick, hearty pasta, but you could easily go all the way to 1.

The flattening process is designed, it seems, for a person with three hands: one to hold the sheet of dough above the machine, one to catch it as it comes out the bottom, and one to crank the handle.

Once the flattened dough is as thin as you desire, you crank it through one of the cutter-rollers, and voila, a small handful of uncooked pasta. We tend to drape these over whatever’s handy, since we don’t have a pasta rack, and they get stuck together slightly. Don’t worry too much if this happens; as long as you get the rest of the dough done relatively quickly, it seems the uncooked noodles will come apart while cooking.

You noodles aren’t going to look like the ones that come in a box at the grocery store. They’ll be lumpier, and many will have ragged edges. Who cares? They’ll still taste great.

When you’ve finished flattening and cutting all your dough, just toss the pile of noodles into a big pot of boiling water, stir them a bit, and let them cook for three to four minutes. Then toss on plates with fresh marinara or (like we did last night) alfredo and sautéed vegetables, and you’re done! Buon apetito!