A gift, a besmirchment, a memory, and a meal

For Hanukah this year, Dr. S and Koko gave me two gifts that were absolutely perfect for Honeycrisp the cook - the pasta maker attachment for the Kitchenaid mixer and a prized fresh black truffle (along with the appropriate tool for shaving it).  We were so looking forward to making our first batch of housemade pasta and shaving paper-thin slices of truffle atop it.

Sadly, we had not fully understood the rules of truffle storage and when we busted into the package today, the poor little truffle was covered in mold and smelled horribly. Through my disappointment, I assured BP that we'd find a different way to serve our homemade pasta and all would be okay.

Moments later, he asked me if I remembered a passage from the book, Heat, by Bill Buford, where he makes/eats a transcendent version linguine with clams at family meal at the restaurant Babbo (where he - a journalist - is interning).  I did remember - quite vividly.  I have filed it away in my memory as a combination of swimming in the Mediterranean, eating pasta at your grandmother's table, and receiving a big hug - all at the same time.  So without further discussion, we went about recreating that passage.  (Incidentally, our 2nd cousin Oliver - who turned 4 yesterday - also had a hankering for linguine with clams.  It's what he requested for his birthday dinner.  Classy kid.)

It turns out that actually, we weren't the only ones who were carrying around that dish in our minds.  In fact, Blake Royer (aka the Paupered Chef and a contributor to my favorite Serious Eats column - Dinner Tonight) attempted it four years ago and helpfully blogged about it so we didn't have to dig up our old copy of the book to sort it out.

If you're into the recipe, scroll down for the details.  We doubled the recipe for the two of us.  Or, if you just want to live vicariously through our pasta-making/Bill Buford adventure, check out the photos.

These are the sheets of pasta, once they came out of the the first stage of pasta rolling.  They are beautiful and uniform thanks to the amazing Kitchenaid mixer.

Here's our linguine, all cut and arranged into nests and awaiting a hot pot of salted, boiling water.

The supporting actors in tonight's dinner were garlic, onion, pancetta, parsley,  and wine (not pictured).

And here's the final product, full of delectable littleneck clams.  Yum!!

Linguine with Clams, via Bill Buford

**Note: if you use fresh pasta, like we did, your pasta won't need 6 1/2 minutes to cook.  It's more like 2-3 minutes.  So start the clams before the pasta and follow the rest of the instructions as written.  

olive oil
small pinch chopped garlic
small pinch red chili flakes
medium pinch finely chopped onion
medium pinch pancetta
"slap of butter" (a couple tablespoons)
"splash of white wine" (1/4, perhaps)
4 ounces pasta
1 big handfuls clams (cockles, the little ones, are preferred)

From Heat:

...begin by roasting small pinches of garlic and chili flakes and medium pinches of onion and pancetta in a hot pan with olive oil. Hot oil accelerates the cooking process, and the moment everything gets soft you pour it away (holding back the contents with your tongs) and add a slap of butter and a splash of white wine, which stops the cooking. This is stage one.

[...]

In Stage two, you drop the pasta in boiling water and take your messy buttery pan and fill it with a big handful of clams and put it on the highest possible flame. The objective is to cook them fast--they'll start opening after three or four minutes, when you give the pan a swirl, mixing the shellfish juice with the buttery porky white wine emulsion. At six minutes and thirty seconds, use your tongs to pull your noodles out and drop them into your pan--all that starchy pasta water slopping in with them is still a good thing; give the pan another swirl; flip it; swirl it again to ensure the pasta is covered by the sauce. If it looks dry, add another splash of pasta water; if too wet, pour some out. You let the whole thing cook away for another half minute or so, swirling, swirling, until the sauce streaks across the bottom of the pan, splash with olive oil and sprinkle with parsley: dinner.