Anthony Strong, testing the Amatriciana. Photo: Eric Wolfinger
Locanda, the Roman-inspired restaurant from the Delfina crew, opens later this week. The buzz will surely continue to build over the next few days, but in an effort to get to the heart of a restaurant in the pre-opening phase, we’re going to take you — the reader, the diner — behind the scenes to witness a few of the many things that go into a new restaurant.
To be specific, we’ll explore the genesis, tradition, and evolution of a few certain, signature dishes that will be on the menu at Locanda.
Playing tourguide is Locanda chef Anthony Strong, and first up is that classic Roman pasta: Amatriciana.
Strong’s words follow:
Amatriciana is a classic Roman pasta, and like any good cook I learned this from my Nonna. Except it was in Iowa not Italy, she was Grandma not Nonna, and we called it “Grandma’s Spaghetti” not Amatriciana.
Funny though, Dubuque, Iowa is known as Little Rome by the locals. In Dubuque the ratio of Catholic churches to citizens equals that of the Eternal City, so I guess Iowa and Rome have more in common than you would initially assume.
In the summertime I’d weed her garden down by the railroad tracks and then run up the porch and clean up for dinner (just in time to eat and then watch The Golden Girls). She’d crisp bacon in leftover bacon fat, which she always made sure to keep on hand. Then she’d add in sliced onion, browning it in the bacon and fat and then pour in the V8 and canned tomatoes and cook the sauce a bit. Talking to her today, she’s still adamant that you must then *undercook* the spaghetti.
“Oh, al dente,” I’ll suggest, and she just replies with confusion and something about this not being Italy and not knowing what *they* call it. To her it’s just undercooked.
So then she’d toss the perfectly undercooked spaghetti with the sauce and pour it into a Pyrex pan and bake it. I remember watching amazed by how something that went in as a liquid could come out as a solid. Undercooking and then baking the pasta in the sauce meant that the starches expanded a little bit and thickened everything.
Amatriciana gets a dousing of cheese. Photo: Eric Wolfinger
Fast forward 20 years later, I’m on the pasta station at Delfina getting my ass kicked, and it all came back to me as a ‘holy shit’ moment. When I was really starting to grasp the importance of starch thickened pasta water, I immediately thought of this. Seems like Grandmas around all over the world seem to have some supernatural understanding of cooking…
After it came out of the oven, she’d sprinkle tons of black pepper on top. It was my first introduction to heat, so I’d dump it all over to see how spicy I could make it. Then she’d cover it with Kraft parmesan. A classical Midwest spin on a Roman pasta. Oddly, regardless of the fact that it may or may not have been actual cheese, Kraft’s parmesan had a sand-like grind to it that incorporated into the pasta really well. This consistency of grind is really important in our cooking at Locanda. We have a grinder, La Minerva, that emulates the Kraft grind and turns our cheese into snow.
So there in Grandma’s kitchen I learned her version of Amatriciana — not that she’d ever call it that. But Amatriciana is meant to be just what she would make. It’s meant to be humble, simple, meaty and delicious. When working in Rome, I’d learned the “scuola vecchia” version of the dish. And even though the quality of ingredients used in a traditional Roman Amatriciana is different (read: significantly better), it just got me thinking about Grandma’s Spaghetti. They both follow the same principles and aim for the same amount of decadence, acidity and spice.
One of the most debated things about Amatriciana in Rome is whether or not to use onions. And that’s funny because I’m pretty sure my Grandma and mom have the same argument for Grandma’s spaghetti. At Locanda we braise the sauce with halves of onion and then remove them. I don’t like chunks of onion mixing with my guanciale, but I like the depth it adds to the sauce. Developing something that we think is a perfect Amatriciana sauce is half about making a great traditional Roman sauce and half about recreating the feeling of eating something made by your grandma. As cooks making Italian food, we’re always trying to make things exciting and updating techniques, but when you get down to it, you’re just trying to recreate the original feeling of having this steaming hot plate of grandma’s spaghetti.
Check back tomorrow for the next installment.
Locanda: 557 Valencia St., between 16th and 17th; (415) 863-6800 or locandasf.com