Pasta alla gricia
If Rome were a student (first name Rome, last name Italy) and received a school report card, I imagine she’d get excellent marks in many a subject. For example, The Eternal City excels in History — you’d be hard pressed to find a place so ancient — and Architecture, not to mention Art, Archaeology, and Religion. She’s top in her class in Pizza (impossibly thin, crisp crust) and receives perfect grades when it comes to Artichokes 101 (fried until crisp or braised until soft, take your pick).
(She struggles most in the subjects of bureaucracy and public transport, though — no one is perfect).
But let’s focus on her strengths, shall we?! Colosseum and St. Peter’s Basilica aside, Rome excels perhaps most notably when it comes to pasta (A+, 100/100, summa cum laude) . In my book, there are few things more delicious than a bowl of Roman pasta, or rather: spaghetti alla carbonara, with its silky, eggy sauce and flavorful guanciale; cacio e pepe, spicy and notoriously cheesy; bucatini all'amatriciana, with its sumptuous tomato sauce, meaty slabs of guanciale, and generous dose of pecorino cheese; and, of course — Rome’s fourth classic primo piatto, pasta alla gricia.
Ehem. You may be scratching your head right now, and if you are, I’m not all that surprised. Unless you're living in Rome or have spent more than a few days in the city, I'm willing to bet you haven't heard much about pasta alla gricia, which — much like a child with lots of accomplished, outgoing older siblings — tends to be overshadowed by Carbonara, Cacio e Pepe, and Amatriciana (I myself have always been an amatriciana sort of girl).
So! Let’s break down the Roman Pasta family tree: gricia is amatriciana without the tomato, carbonara without the egg, and cacio e pepe with guanciale. In other words, its a pasta dish that requires just two ingredients, besides the pasta itself — guanciale and Pecorino. At first glance, gricia doesn’t tout the renowned decadence of carbonara, the bold cheesiness and heat of cacio e pepe, or the rich tomato-ness of amatriciana. It doesn’t bring in the vegetarians like cacio e pepe might, and perhaps it seems strange to eat guanciale in a pasta without the backdrop of a tomato sauce or a beaten egg. Whatever the reason behind gricia’s lack of fame, know that it is Italian cuisine at its finest, a dish that exemplifies simplicity and allows a few choice ingredients to shine. Sharp, sheep-y, salty Pecorino is grated fine and combined with starchy pasta water, magically creating a luxurious sauce to coat the pasta of your choosing, accented by thick matchsticks of unapologetically rich, rib-sticking guanciale (a subtle dish it is not). This is a pasta that will simultaneously soothe your 2020 worries and transport you straight to a Roman trattoria at the first forkful (or even earlier, when the guanciale starts to sizzle in the pan).
Bottom line: a round of applause, a pat on the shoulder, and a little recognition for the unsung hero that is gricia, who deserves just as high a place in the Pasta pantheon as the other three.
A couple of notes: Using pancetta instead of guanciale or Parmesan instead of the Pecorino cheese will not produce the same dish, so if you want to make actual pasta alla gricia, try for the guanciale and Pecorino (if you’re not in Italy, well-stocked supermarkets and specialty food stores should have them). You'll notice that there is no salt in this recipe. Between the salty guanciale and the Pecorino, you will not need any. Use the smallest grate possible on your cheese grater so that the cheese dissolves in to the pasta water to make a creamy sauce. I use rigatoni or mezze maniche here because they capture the gricia well — there’s nothing more magical than biting in to a rigatone that is concealing a piece of guanciale — but feel free to use bucatini, tonnarelli, or spaghetti if you prefer. Finally, if you’re here in Italy try and buy a large piece of guanciale that you can cut yourself, instead of the pre-cut kind (ie guanciale a cubetti). While fine in a pinch, the pieces are far too small to achieve the effect we are looking for.
Looking for other Roman pastas? I’ve got this amatriciana and this cacio e pepe. Looking for more recipes to make you feel like you’re in Rome? Check out this compilation here.
PASTA ALLA GRICIA
Serves 4.
Ingredients:
320 grams (about 12 ounces) rigatoni or mezze maniche
60 grams (about 3/4 cup) freshly grated Pecorino cheese
250 grams (a little more than 8 ounces) guanciale
Freshly ground pepper
Directions:
Put a pot of water on to boil for your pasta. Grate your cheese (using a microplaner or the smallest grate possible on your grater) and set aside.
Slice the guanciale into matchsticks, and cook them in a pan over medium heat — you shouldn’t need to add any oil here as the guanciale will start to cook and release its own fat, but if you’d like, feel free to add a drop or two of olive oil to help things along.
When your water is boiling, add your pasta and cook until al dente. Right before you’re about to drain the pasta, reserve a ladleful of the starchy cooking water. Drain your pasta, and place it back in the pot it was cooked in; add the guanciale and its drippings to the pasta and mix thoroughly. Next, add all the Pecorino at once, and about half of the reserved pasta water, quickly stirring and beating the whole mixture with a wooden spoon until the cheese emulsifies and mixes in with the pasta water gives you a smooth Pecorino sauce. Add a little more pasta water if needed as you go. Season with freshly grated black pepper, distribute onto plates, and eat immediately.