First you render the duck legs.
Then they braise in the oven for hours.
Then they cool.
Then you debone them, remove the skin and fat, pull the meat apart by hand.
Then it goes back into the sauce.
When the meat is shredded this fine, every little strand absorbs the sauce. It’s not meat and sauce anymore. It becomes one thing.

And that only happens because of time.

Time spent letting things sit.
Time breaking it down.
Time letting flavours come together.

Ragù rewards patience.

It’s usually served with pappardelle or tagliatelle, a silky egg fresh noodle.

I was gonna make garganelli on my pettine (a traditional board with strings) someone brought me back from Italy, but it got late, I got lazy, and I had it with dry casarecce. Still slapped. The sauce is rich and dry pasta has more bite, more chew.

What I’m saying is if all your effort goes into the ragù, it’s ok. It’s ok to open a box of pasta. Not the cheap stuff. But good quality dry pasta ? Hell ya.

With a dish like this, it’s not just the ingredients, it’s the time you give them. It’s the kind of sauce that comes together when you leave it the fuck alone.

Just letting it do its thing.

The best things I make now, in the kitchen and outside of it, are the ones I don’t rush.

Ok, later
Em

BEHIND THE PASTA

• Nonna Natalina making pappardelle

• 4000 Weeks (not about food, but time and pace)

But I made pici.

Pici is semolina and water. That’s it. It’s rustic af. No tools. Just your hands and enough patience. The dough tells you when it’s ready to stretch, if you pay attention. You roll it until your palms remember the motion.

You’re not there to impress.

The more I cook, the more I lean toward that.

I did a collab with a local farm. I asked for a case of tomatoes straight off the vine, fresh basil, olive oil, some garlic, peperoncini and a burrata to turn into stracciatella.

Seven ingredients if we count salt, and we do.
Sure I could’ve made something complicated, but for what?

When I started running specials at Mano Cornuto, I remember plating a pasta and reaching for microgreens.

What’s the green for? chef asked.

Colour. I said.

He looked at me like I just exposed myself.

What are you trying to hide?

That line stuck. Because that’s what garnish is sometimes. Insurance. Insecurity. Even extra cheese can become a safety blanket. Something on top so you don’t have to send a plate out naked and feel vulnerable. No garnish. No distraction. Just the dish.

Does it taste good?

It tastes great!

Then it doesn’t need anything.

Now I send out plates that look almost too basic.
Nothing on top for applause.
And I own that shit.

People think mastery is doing more. It’s not. It’s knowing what to do and what to leave out. Just because you can make snow crab ravioli doesn’t mean you need to. Just because something is more difficult doesn’t mean it’s better.

Good ingredients don't need much from you. You respect them. You don’t intervene just to make yourself feel important. You let them speak for themselves.

Ok, later
Em

BEHIND THE PASTA

• Nonna making pici pasta by hand

• What Salt Fat Acid Heat gets right

I came back to work after a month off and carbonara was the first special I ran. Maybe the worst dish to come back to if you’re slightly out of rhythm, because it will expose you immediately. It’s so simple yet so easy to sabotage.

Coming back from slower days changes the way your body moves in the kitchen. You hesitate for a second. Carbonara doesn't give you that second.

I make fresh pasta for a living, but this is one of those dishes where dry pasta just makes more sense. You need that al dente bite. So get some dry spaghetti, or rigatoni, guanciale, egg yolks, pecorino and black pepper. No cream. No shortcuts.

The biggest mistake people make isn’t ingredients. It’s HEAT.

Patience is the secret ingredient. If your pan is too hot, you’ve got scrambled eggs. The pan shouldn’t feel aggressive. It should feel warm, not ripping.

Carbonara needs to be set up before you even start. Your guanciale is rendered. Your water is boiling. Once the pasta drops, you’re on the clock.

You don’t multitask.
You don’t walk away.
For 30 seconds this pasta wants everything from you.

Too much heat, too much speed, and it breaks.
Turn the flame off.
Let the sauce come together on its own.
And once the pasta is ready, you've got maybe 90 seconds while it's perfect.

You can follow my recipe. Timing is the part you can’t Google.

Ok, later
Em

BEHIND THE PASTA

• Laurent Dagenais’ carbonara video

• Tastet’s guide to carbonara in Montreal

Some days I want pesto.
Some days I want pomodoro.
Some days I want both. Who said I can’t?

Pesto on pomodoro isn’t trying to reinvent anything. It’s two classics sharing the same plate. Nobody is trying to outshine anybody. The pomodoro doesn’t need to taste like pesto. The pesto doesn’t need to cover the pomodoro. They stay exactly what they are. That’s why they work.

I think Italian cooking understands this really well.

Every ingredient has a job. It’s not a solo show.

The pomodoro brings sweetness and acidity.
The pesto brings freshness, richness and herbs.
The parmigiano ties everything together.
Not one ingredient is carrying the whole dish.
Everything belongs

So ya here’s both recipes. Make one if you want. Or don’t pick.

Ok, later
Em

🔗 full recipe cards attached below

Pesto Genovese

1.24MB ∙ PDF file

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Pomodoro sauce

1.24MB ∙ PDF file

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Behind the Pasta

That’s cucina povera. It means “poor cooking” in Italian, but it’s anything but. It’s a humble and smart way to cook. Using what you’ve got, what you grow, what your neighbour grew. You can make a dish feel rich with just a few simple things when you give time for a tomato to ripen or an anchovy to melt in the pan.

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Farm-to-Table is Not “Cool”

That’s why I like farm-to-table, it’s not a buzzword, it reminds me I’m part of the food cycle. When you know the effort behind growing a tomato, you care more, you use them differently and you can taste that. 

Buying local isn’t just responsible, it’s real. It’s how people have always done it. You eat what’s around. You trade with friends. You get creative.

You’re Doing Too Much

The most iconic pasta dishes use with 3-4 ingredients. No fluff, all flavour:

Spaghetti aglio e olio (garlic, olive oil, chili). All’arrabbiata (garlic, chili, tomato).
Pasta alla gricia (guanciale, pecorino, black pepper). Pasta e ceci (pasta, chickpeas).
And my girl, pasta alla puttanesca (olives, capers, anchovy, tomato).

Povera Not Broke

I started cooking this way before I even knew what to call it. I was 17, living in my first apartment. My grocery list was short, but I still made it work. When I started cooking in kitchens and saw shoebox of herb stems and bruised veg hit the trash. Stuff that could’ve been great if someone had cared enough to use it. That stuck with me, and it became part of how I move. 

Cucina povera values intention. It’s low-waste, seasonal by default, and all about stretching what you’ve got. Now I save scraps. I give ingredients time. I plan less and freestyle more. Because simple isn’t boring, quite the opposite if you ask me.

The Sauce That Seduced These Mans

Dropping both versions of puttanesca, classic and fresca, because cherry tomatoes are at their juiciest right now.

Side note: “puttanesca” comes from puttana, word on the streets is that sex workers would simmer the sauce to lure customers in and feed them after, you know what.

Neapolitans ride for long noodles only, but in Lazio they’ll do spaghetti or penne. Either way, it’s salty, punchy, and very much that girl of the pantry pasta world.

That’s the beauty of cucina povera. It doesn’t ask for much, but it gives a lot.

Em

BEHIND THE PASTA

Recipe cards below for my paid subs.

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The kitchen is busy. The bell dinging, line cooks flying past for more arugula, tables flipped on a timer. But the second my hands touch semolina, my mind goes quiet. I’m still when I shape ravioli.

Pasta teaches you to move with intention, not urgency.To do less, but better.To give your full attention, because attention is the real currency.

Your mind needs stillness. Boredom. That’s when the good stuff comes through.

Slowness isn’t about doing everything at a snail’s pace. It’s about doing things at the right speed. Savoring the hours and minutes rather than just counting them.
-Carl Honoré, In Praise of Slow

Fast food was built for convenience. Fast living is about chasing the next thing. Comparing. Hustling. Rushing thru what actually matters. Rushing usually ruins things.

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Mistakes are part of the recipe

One time I tried to bang out gnocchi for forty people in under an hour. I didn’t cool the potatoes. Cracked in eggs too hot. Ended up with a ball of mess. Garbage.

I started over at half speed. Double the care. This batch floated like clouds.

That day, I learned patience pays off. Same with letting dough sit. Same with sauce that takes its time. That’s all time working for you, not against you.

Challenging the cult of speed 

Turns out, slowing down in the kitchen showed me how to slow down everywhere else. It taught me that valuing your time is the value. 

What started as cooking with intention turned into being with intention.

I wrote about all of this for The Main if you have time.

It’s here

Em

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Juicy heirlooms, cherry tomatoes, fior di latte, splash of balsamic, couple basil leaves, and handfuls of day-old focaccia croutons soaking up all the acqua di pomodoro. It's the kind of salad that makes you want to start a garden.

The second one burst in my mouth, I thought Trapanese.
No cooking. All raw. Bright, nutty, juicy, a little garlicky.

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How they Do It in Trapani

This isn't your classic green pesto. Trapanese comes from the west coast of Sicily, where almonds grow wild and the sun hits hard. It’s a pesto built for summer with fewer rules and more vibes.

It’s traditionally made with almonds, garlic, cherry tomatoes, basil, and Pecorino. And it’s served with busiate, a chewy hand-rolled semolina and water pasta that looks like a phone cord (IYKYK).

Almonds Are In

Almonds are everywhere in Sicilian cooking so of course they’re the base here instead of pine nuts. I like to use blanched almonds, whole or sliced, and toast them in the oven until golden, just enough to bring out the nutty flavor.

And right before serving, I zest an almond on top like you would with nutmeg.

Chunky Not Smooth

I use a food processor for the base, but ALWAYS pulse. We’re not making gazpacho. You want chunks. Break the cherry tomatoes and garlic, hand-chop the rest, toss it in.

If you’re game, try making busiate. It’s easier than it looks. All you need is semolina, water, and a skewer—I should probably do a post on it soon.

For the Jean-Talon event, I made campanelle. Still great and grabbing the sauce just way more realistic when you’re prepping for a bigger crowd.

What do you Cook when It’s 30° and you’re expecting 200 People

I served this pasta at an all-women cheffe event at Jean-Talon Market last weekend. Every dish featured produce from women-led farms, paired with wines from women winemakers. It was a hot day, and I wanted to bring a vegetarian option that had that farm-to-table visual, not heavy, easy to scale, and not sad if served cold.

That’s what seasonal cooking is to me. You see what’s ready, what’s calling your name, and you build a plate around that.

That’s how you taste the season.
That’s how you show respect.

Em

This pesto is best the day of, but still slaps on toast or over a fried egg. Even if you’re cooking pasta for two, make the full batch and stash the rest in the fridge.

FOR 4-6

• 250g fresh campanelle

• 500g cherry tomatoes

• 2 garlic cloves, finely chopped

• 15 basil leaves, chopped or chiffonade

• 7–8 mint leaves, chopped or chiffonade

• 100g almonds, blanched and toasted until golden, then roughly chopped

• 75g olive oil, more as needed

• 75g Pecorino Romano, finely grated, more to shave on top

• Salt & pepper

• Espelette pepper, a pinch of, dried or fresh, finely chopped (optional)

Optional garnish:

• Semi-dried cherry tomatoes (see below)

• Whole skin-on almonds (to microplane on top like nutmeg)

PESTO

1. Clean the cherry tomatoes. In small batches, pulse them in a food processor just until chunky, do not purée. Transfer to a large mixing bowl.

2. Add garlic and almonds.

3. Add olive oil, fold in Pecorino.

4. Add basil, mint, and Espelette pepper. Taste and adjust salt.

HOW

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta until al dente.

2. Add a few spoonfuls of pesto to a new mixing bowl.

3. Toss the hot pasta over the pesto with a splash of pasta water.

4. Mix until every piece is coated.

5. Plate. Top with shaved Pecorino, microplaned almond dust, and semi-dried tomatoes if you made them.

WORD

• Campanelle can be replaced by any short pasta you like

• For the semi-dried cherry tomatoes: slice cherry tomatoes in half. Toss with olive oil, salt, pepper, and a sprinkle of icing sugar. Lay cut-side up on a parchment-lined tray and dry in the oven overnight on the lowest setting.

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This is part 2 of the pasta mistakes series aka more stuff you could be doing wrong.

If you missed part 1, start [here]. We covered rinsing noodles, breaking spaghetti, under-salting water.. the basics.

This round we’re going deeper.
Because tomato sauce shouldn’t be orange.

Em

IS THERE CREAM IN CARBONARA?

Short answer: never.

Longer answer : real carbonara is egg yolks, pecorino, guanciale, guanciale fat and pasta water. That’s it. Cream throws off the balance and dulls the richness that’s already there. 

Try out my carbonara recipe and see for yourself.

SHOULD I KEEP FRESH PASTA IN THE FRIDGE?

No, you should freeze it. Even if you're eating it tomorrow.

The fridge keeps aging the pasta and turns it gummy. The freezer stops that process right away. Toss frozen pasta straight into boiling water—no thawing. Just add a minute or two to the cooking time.

WHY IS MY TOMATO SAUCE ORANGE?

Are you blitzing it after it’s cooked? This is how you get sad, orange sauce. We’re not making a potage here. Blitzing hot sauce whips in air (oxidation) changing the texture and killing the flavor. Crush your tomatoes before cooking. Let it reduce naturally. Also, hand crushing your tomatoes is better btw.

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If you’ve been here since my sausage ragù post, my day ones, you already know how this whole thing started. I was working at the restaurant when this girl walks in, pulls her laptop, and starts telling me about her substack and I’m like what’s a substack??

Next thing I know, she’s selling it to me “you need one for your pasta recipes” she goes. That girl? Catherine St-Laurent, my substack godmother.

So it only felt right to do my first collab on here with her. We wanted to make pasta but keep it chill—no machine, no stress, just something you can make at home with basically semolina and water.

We made Spizzulus.

Meaning “pinch” in Sardinian dialect. It’s a little hand-pinched loop of dough that looks kinda fancy but it’s stupid simple once you get the hang of it.

Fiddleheads are in season so we went full spring mode: bitter, buttery, lemony, salty anchovies and guanciale. Takes no time, but tastes like you put in work.

Recipe’s below. Video’s up on Mise en Place if you wanna see how we made it.

Don’t sleep, she’s a banger.

Em

SPIZZULUS WITH FIDDLEHEADS, ANCHOVY AND DANDELION GREENS

FOR 2

• 250–300g spizzulus

• 1 cup fiddleheads, cleaned, blanched (1–2 min), ice bath

• 1–2 handfuls dandelion greens

• 50g guanciale, sliced

• 2 anchovy fillets (in oil)

• 2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

• A pinch of chili flakes

• Lemon (juice + zest)

• Extra virgin olive oil

• 2 cubes unsalted butter

• Dry white wine (optional, for deglazing)

• Pecorino Romano

• Salt

• Black pepper

HOW

1. Crisp up the guanciale in a pan over medium until golden and slightly chewy, not dry. Take it out and set aside.

2. In the same pan add olive oil, anchovies and chili flakes. Let it all melt down and vibe, add the garlic—don’t let the garlic brown.

3. Meanwhile, boil a big pot of salted water and drop in your pasta. Cook until al dente (around 3-5min, but taste it to be sure)

4. Toss in the fiddleheads. Sauté for a quick minute just to coat and warm.

5. Optional: deglaze with a splash of white wine. Let it cook off.

6. Drop the heat to low. Add the guanciale back in.

7. Squeeze in lemon juice. Add the dandelion greens. Let them just barely wilt.

8. Taste and adjust salt but keep it light (guanciale and anchovy already slap).

9. Add your cooked spizzulus, a splash of pasta water and the butter and swirl into a glossy sauce.

10. Plate it up. Finish with grated pecorino, lemon zest, black pepper.

WORD

• Fresh pasta loves lots of water—don’t skimp on the pot size.

• Fiddlehead prep: trim off any brown or dry bits and rinse well couple of times. Blanch in boiling water 2–3min, then dump straight into an ice bath to stop the cooking and keep ’em bright green.

• No fiddleheads? Use asparagus, fava beans, or peas.

• No dandelion greens? Go for chicory, puntarelle, wild arugula—any bitter green.

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This post is for them.
And maybe for you too !

I get so many questions all the time, and I said I’d help level up your pasta game—so here we are.

Hope this clears things up.
Em

AM I SUPPOSED TO RINSE MY NOODLES AFTER COOKING?

No. Rinsing washes off the starch and that starch is your MVP.

It’s what makes the sauce cling instead of sliding off like lotion on dry skin. Imagine that pasta has pores and when it’s hot, they’re wide open. Drain it and toss it straight into the sauce while it’s still hot and steamy. That’s how you get flavor in the pasta—not just on it.

IS IT A CRIME TO PUT THE SAUCE ON TOP?

Short answer : it is.

Longer answer : pasta and sauce belong together. You need to finish cooking your pasta in the pan, in the sauce, with a little pasta water to help it cling.

It’s the wedding ceremony. The flavors marry. They get to know each other. The magic happens and you get that glossy finish.

IS AL DENTE JUST NOT FULLY COOKED?

Not just “not fully cooked.” Al dente means cooked right—firm, chewy and structurally sound. It holds its own and happens to be easier to digest too.

Wanna hit perfect al dente? Cook it to the low end of the time range and taste it. That’s how you know.

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Add whipped ricotta and now it’s creamy, but still light and fresh.
No guanciale? Pancetta will do. Don’t stress.

Fava are a bit of a project, but I like ’em. I buy mine fresh at Birri at Jean Talon Market.

Pop ’em out of the pods, blanch for a minute, shock in ice water, then peel.
Some people use a knife. I use my nails. Do you.

If you’ve got extra, throw them in a salad, risotto, or go Roman-style like my girl Marcella Hazan—warm with olive oil, pancetta, onion.
Or make macco: a humble bean mash from the south. It hits.

MACCO DI FAVE

• 400–450g fava beans, prepped

• 3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

• 1 yellow onion, chopped

• 1 garlic clove, unpeeled

• Salt and black pepper

• 6–7 small fennel fronds, chopped

Cook onion and garlic in olive oil until soft. Add fava, salt, pepper, and just enough water to barely cover. Simmer low until buttery soft. Remove garlic, mash into a rustic purée. Finish with a fat drizzle of olive oil and fennel fronds. Optional chili, rosemary, or fennel seeds—your call, fam.

Anyway, maybe you don’t feel like doing all this labour for beans, and that’s your loss.

Em

FAVE E GUANCIALE

FOR 2

• 250g fresh nodi marini (or any short pasta you fuck with)

• 70–80g guanciale, julienne

• About 150g fava beans, blanched and peeled (about 35-40 pods)

• 1-2 tbsp whipped ricotta

• Pecorino romano, finely grated

• Lemon zest

• Fresh basil

• Salt

• Black pepper

HOW

1. Start by whipping your ricotta. Throw it in a food processor and blitz until glossy and thick—don’t overdo it or it’ll split and get loose again.

2. Slice the guanciale into julienne and toss it into a cold pan. Turn the heat to medium and slowly render. You want it crispy around the edges but still soft and juicy in the middle.

3. Meanwhile, boil a big pot of salted water and drop in your pasta. Cook until al dente.

4. Right before the pasta’s ready, add the blanched fava beans to the pan with the guanciale fat. Just warm them—you don’t want them to go mushy.

5. Toss your cooked pasta straight into the pan with a splash of pasta water.

   Add the whipped ricotta and grated pecorino, and stir like you mean it—you’re emulsifying everything into a light, creamy sauce.

6. Season with black pepper and a pinch of salt (but go easy—guanciale and pecorino already bring the salt).

7. Plate it up. Finish with lemon zest and a few fresh basil leaves.

WORD

• Fresh pasta loves lots of water—don’t skimp on the pot size.

• Don’t overwhip the ricotta—stop when it’s glossy and thick, before it splits.

• You can swap nodi marini for any short pasta you fuck with.

• Like I said, if you don’t have guanciale, use pancetta. 

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In Quebec, l’ail des bois is protected—you’re allowed to pick up to 50 plants a year for personal use. Selling them? Big no. Restaurants work with micro-suppliers, but even that’s a limited drop.

Some of you might know people. People with gardens. Generous people. And some of you aren’t in Quebec and can just enjoy wild garlic as you please.

So because it’s the season and this pasta slaps I’m sharing the recipe anyway.

I love mixing bitter, briny, garlicky flavors. And yeah, I know this sounds like it’s heading toward a Puttanesca in bianco. Don’t get it twisted—she’ll get her own main character moment soon.

For now, ramps. We’re tossing in anchovies—if you’re into them, you’ll love it.
I’m also adding dandelion greens I had lying around, but arugula works.

This is actually a remix of a pasta I did with spigariello—not Italian green onions like I thought lol, but an heirloom Italian broccoli with leafy greens. I’ll tell you more when its season hits.

We start with a soffritto—the Italian holy trinity. It’s giving soul. Low and slow is the move here, you want it soft, sweet, a little jammy. Not burnt.

RAMPS SOFFRITTO

• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

• 1 shallot, finely chopped

• Ramp stems (and bulbs if you got 'em), finely chopped

Heat a little extra virgin olive oil. Add your ramps stems (and bulbs if you got 'em), add a shallot, chopped. Cook on medium-low until everything’s soft and jammy.

That’s it. Now we turn this into pasta.

Em

LINGUINE WITH RAMPS

FOR 2

• 250g fresh linguine 

• Ramp leaves, stems, and bulbs (if you have)

• 1 shallot, chopped

• 2–3 anchovy fillets 

• Ground chili flakes

• Juice of half a lemon

• 8–10 dandelion green leaves (or arugula)

• 2 small cube unsalted butter

• Extra virgin olive oil

• Lemon pangrattato, for topping

HOW

1. Boil a big pot of salted water and drop in your linguine. Cook until just shy of al dente. Save a fat mug of pasta water before draining.

2. While the pasta’s rolling, get a pan hot with a bit of olive oil. Add your soffritto (ramp stems and bulbs cooked down with shallots) with your anchovies. Warm it up on low heat until the anchovy melts into the oil, then hit it with a pinch of chili flakes.

3. Add your ramp leaves and toss until they just start to wilt. Splash in your lemon juice to brighten it all up. 

4. Toss your pasta straight into the pan with a good splash of pasta water to help the sauce come together. Add your dandelion greens (or arugula) and a cube of butter. Toss and swirl until glossy and coated.

5. Plate it up, sprinkle a good handful of lemon pangrattato on top, and send it straight to the table. No cheese. Keep it buttery and clean.

WORD

• Fresh pasta loves lots of water—don’t skimp on the pot size.

• If you don’t have dandelion greens, sub with arugula, chicory, even baby kale.

• Make a batch of pangrattato to keep on deck—it stays crispy for up to 1 week.

• You can swap linguine for tagliatelle, spaghetti alla chitarra, any long noodle slaps.

• Don't overcook your ramp leaves, 1–2 min max, you want them vibrant, not mushy.

• If your pasta water is salty, you won’t need to add more at the end. Taste it first.

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Every restaurant’s out here flexing their first-crab dishes. People go wild for it—and honestly, fair enough.

Our local crab is sweet and delicate. Caught in the icy waters of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. It’s giving bougie seafood. And every time I put it on the menu, it’s gone before I get a second bite.

Meanwhile in Italy, they’re just surrounded by four seas like it’s no big deal. Their native crab is granchio—a green shore crab, mostly from Veneto. More earthy, more grassy.

The other night I had a girls night in: wine, cheese, spicy slaw, herb butter, and a couple snow crab legs to crack. Like coastal grandma meets house party.

So I’m sharing two of my ride-or-die snow crab pasta :
Snow crab ravioli in a saffron butter.
Snow crab noodles in its bisque.

And I’ll tell you how to make saffron butter—aka liquid gold. Saffron is the pistil of a flower, it’s pricey, but worth it. That floral-bittersweet just makes sense with seafood.

In Italy, saffron’s been around since the Romans. But shoutout to the Arabs for reintroducing it in the 9th century—since then it’s been the secret for risotto alla Milanese, malloreddus, fregula. Sardinia even got its own PDO zafferano.

And the saffron butter, like the anchovy butter I dropped last week—you’ll wanna keep a stash in your freezer at all times.

Ok. Let’s crack some crab and get into it.

Em

SNOW CRAB RAVIOLI ALLO ZAFFERANO

Step-by-step reel of how I make these ravioli

FOR 2

Dough: using my Rich Egg Dough recipe—the full batch makes enough for 4, but for this one we’re rolling with half. Save the rest or double the filling if you’re feeling extra.

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In true cucina povera, they were the go-to when you needed big flavor from ingredients that were cheap and preserved.

And ya there are a lot of anchovy haters out there (we listen and we don’t judge), but let’s be real; most of them only had ’em straight up or on some sad, greasy slice of pizza. Melting anchovies into sauce or butter is the best umami cheat code, period.

Also, they’re good for you. Packed with omega-3s, calcium, super low in mercury compared to most fish, and they happen to slap in pasta. Love that for us.

Anchovy is my secret ingredient in many recipes. It disappears into dish and adds that depth that makes people go “wait what’s in this?” Dissolve a couple into your aglio e olio while the garlic’s browning, or sneak one into your greens. Tuscans swear by anchovy fillets laid straight onto buttered crostini. Don’t knock it till you try it.

Now I know pasta alla puttanesca is the one that comes to mind when we talk anchovies. She’s the queen. She deserves a crown and her own post (dw she’s getting it), but today’s not about her. This is about something even simpler. The kind of pasta that makes you wanna pour a glass of crisp, saline white and pretend you live on the Amalfi coast with no wifi.

Anchovy butter is so underrated. It’s stupid easy and stupid good on everything—toasted focaccia, grilled asparagus, rapini, soft-boiled eggs. Just bomb. All you do is blend room temp butter with anchovies. Maybe a little lemon zest if you’re feeling fancy. That’s it. Keep it in the fridge and flex on all your meals like a crackhead.

Also try bagna cauda, a hot anchovy-garlic dip from Piemonte. Name literally means “hot bath.” You serve it with raw or blanched veg like fennel, carrots, but honestly, no one’s stopping you from dunking fries in it either.

Now go stack up on the good stuff and thank me later (here’s the brand I used).

More fishy business soon.

Em

TONNARELLI AL BURRO E ALICI

FOR 2

• 250g fresh tonnarelli

• 2 tbsp anchovy butter

• 1 small ladle of pasta water

• 1 handful of capers (rinsed if super briny)

• Fresh chopped parsley

• Zest of 1/2 lemon (to taste)

• 1-2 anchovy fillet(s), broken into bits for garnish

HOW

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil—use slightly less salt than usual since the anchovy butter and capers are already salty.

2. Cook your pasta until just al dente. 

3. While it’s going, melt the anchovy butter in a pan over low heat. Keep it gentle—you want it silky, not sizzling. You don’t want to brown your butter.

4. Drag the pasta straight into the pan with a splash of pasta water. Toss it around until the sauce emulsifies and coats everything nice and glossy. Add more water if it’s looking dry.

5. Toss in the capers and turn off the heat. Mix it all together.

6. Throw in your chopped parsley.

7. Plate it up. Top with olive oil, lemon zest, and little bits of anchovy fillet.

8. No cheese. No extra salt. Just trust the fish.

WORD

• Tonnarelli can be swapped for spaghetti, linguine or any long noods you like

• How to Anchovy butter:

  • Let your butter chill room temp until soft

  • Use a robot to whip your butter and anchovies filets a few seconds until smooth

  • Done !

If you are trying to stack on anchovy butter–I use one jar of anchovy (380g) for a brick of unsalted butter (454g). Keep in the fridge in a small airtight container for a week. Or freeze it for up to 3 months—just slice off what you need as you go

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That’s how traditions survive. And that’s how I learned too. Not from a nonna (I wish), but by watching, trying, failing, and finally feeling the dough tell me when it’s ready. One of the first pasta books I got was Pasta Grannies and to this day, it’s still a go-to. Not just for recipes, but for stories. Faces. Wisdom from the women who’ve kept this craft alive. I also love their YouTube.

Professional kitchens are a whole different game. Chaotic, fast, still mostly run by men. But the women who step in bring something different. It takes main character energy to walk into a boys’ club and own your space. To be confident. To be heard. And when women run the show, you feel it, the vibe shifts.

Speaking of badass women: Missy Robbins, Marcella Hazan, Nadia Santini. Legends. Missy changed the game in New York. Marcella gave us the most iconic tomato sauce. Nadia was the first woman in Italy to win three Michelin stars. They set the bar and showed the rest of us what’s possible.

All I’m saying is, name a better duo than women and pasta. I’ll wait.

Em

RICH EGG DOUGH

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Pasta e ceci Fra Diavolo: spicy, cozy, just straight-up addictive. No lies, every time I make this at work I end up eating a bowl of sauce by itself. It’s the perfect balance of heat and comfort.

I made this batch with small fusilli because Michelle, one of the girlies at work, is obsessed with them. And ngl, they do catch the sauce perfectly.

So Fra Diavolo means “brother devil” in Italian. It was the nickname of Michele Pezza, this Italian rebel known for his fiery temper. Fitting cause this pasta has an attitude and she’s spicy af. Traditionally, it’s paired with seafood, but let’s be real; my street still hasn’t been snow cleaned in three days and there’s no way I’m trekking to the store for shrimp. Chickpeas it is.

This one’s got Bomba, Peperoncini Piccanti, and a stupid amount of fennel seeds, for that slow, creeping heat that doesn’t play around. At this point, Bomba’s a non-negotiable in my kitchen. If you don’t know it, it’s a Calabrian hot pepper paste that hits deeper than just spice. It’s got sun-dried tomatoes, eggplants, olives, mushrooms—all blended into one loud, punchy flavor bomb. I throw it in sauces, sandwiches, pizza… basically keep a jar in your fridge.

Then there’s Peperoncini Piccanti. Tiny Italian peppers from Puglia, soaked in oil. They slap too. If you can’t find the brand I use, Mark’s makes a great local version which you can grab at Veux-tu une bière if you’re in Montreal.

Now you try it and tell me: on a scale from 1 to send help, where you at?

Em

Pasta e ceci Fra Diavolo

FOR 2

• 250g fresh fusilli

• Extra virgin olive oil 

• 3 cloves garlic confit (or fresh)

• 1 tbsp fennel seeds

• 1 tbsp Bomba (don’t be shy)

• 1 tbsp Peperoncini Piccanti, blitzed with their oil

• 1/2 tsp chili flakes (if you’re scared, dial back—if you love pain, double)

• 400g whole San Marzano tomatoes, blitzed until smooth

• 1/3 cup chickpeas

• 1-2 tbsp unsalted butter 

• Salt and black pepper

• Pecorino Romano, finely grated

HOW

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.

2. Heat a generous amount of extra virgin olive oil in a pot over medium heat. Add garlic confit and let it melt into the oil.

3. Blitz the Peperoncini Piccanti with their oil and add to the pot with fennel seeds, Bomba, chili flakes, salt, and black pepper. Stir and let everything toast for about a minute until fragrant.

4. Pour in your blitzed tomatoes and stir. Lower the heat and let it simmer for about an hour, stirring often. You want it to lose that sharp acidity and turn deep, sweet, and rich. Adjust salt to taste.

5. Add the chickpeas in the last 10min so they soak up all that spicy goodness.

6. In the meantime, cook your pasta until just al dente.

7. Right before adding the pasta, stir 1–2 cubes of butter into the sauce for richness.

8. Cook your fusilli in salted water until just al dente. Transfer it straight into the sauce, carrying a tiny bit of pasta water to help emulsify everything. Stir until the sauce coats every piece. Slap Slap !

9. Serve and drizzle with more olive oil, top with Pecorino Romano

WORD

• The fusilli can be swapped for tubetti, shells or any small pasta

• How to make garlic confit:

  • Take ½ cup extra virgin olive oil and heat it gently in a small pan.

  • Add 6–8 cloves of blitzed garlic (or sliced).

  • Turn the heat off and let the garlic slowly infuse and soften in the warm oil for about 10min.

  • Store in an airtight container in the fridge for up to a week—drizzle it on everything.

• No garlic confit ? Np, just slice fresh garlic, toss it straight into the extra virgin olive oil in Step 1, and let it soften before adding the rest of the spices

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The type of cold that makes you question everything. You’re wrapped up like a human burrito, debating if you really need a job. Or pants. Or a social life.

The only thing that’ll eventually get my ass outta bed is breakfast. I love breakfast. And technically, carbonara is breakfast food. Eggs. Cheese. Bacon (ok guanciale but close enough). So let’s make a carbonara worth waking up for.

It’s not like I would name this page Carbonara Club without giving you a proper carbonara recipe.

So this is the one. The pasta real Italians will fight you over. Traditionally made with spaghetti or spaghettoni, but you’ll see it with rigatoni and mezze maniche too. I used bucatini. Sue me.

Side note—last week at work, we made a pasta bed. Tiny ricotta ravioli pillows, pasta sheets, a pasta duvet, a pasta teddy bear. Why? Why do I need a reason?

Anyway, if you needed a sign to eat pasta before noon, this is it.

Em

BUCATINI ALLA CARBONARA

FOR 2

• 250g bucatini

• 85g guanciale, finely diced (if using pancetta get a fatty piece)

• 5 egg yolks (90g)

• 35g finely grated Parmigiano Reggiano

• 35g finely grated Pecorino Romano plus extra for garnish

• Lots of black pepper

HOW

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil–use slightly less salt than usual since the cheese and guanciale are already salty.

2. Render the guanciale in a large sauté pan over low heat, cook the guanciale slowly until the fat melts and the meat turns crispy (5-7 minutes). Use a slotted spoon to transfer the guanciale to a paper towel-lined plate, set aside and reserve 2 tbsp of that liquid gold (rendered fat).

3. In a large bowl, stir (do not whip) the yolks until smooth, add Parmigiano, Pecorino, and the reserved guanciale fat to form a paste. Hit it with a ridiculous amount of black pepper and mix in half of the crispy guanciale.

4. Cook the pasta until just al dente. Save ¼ cup pasta water before draining.

5. Slowly stream in ¼ cup pasta water into the egg mixture while stirring constantly to keep the eggs from scrambling.

6. Toss it like your life depends on it. Drop the pasta into the bowl and mix fast until silky and glossy. Add more pasta water a splash at a time if needed.

7. Plate it up and top with the rest of guanciale, Pecorino, and more black pepper.

8. Eat immediately. Carbonara waits for no one.

WORD

• Usually spaghetti, spaghettoni, rigatoni and mezze maniche but I used bucatini

• The success of carbonara depends A LOT on the tossing technique. It all comes together in less than a minute !

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I’m the pasta chef at Mano Mano Cornuto (Montreal, pull up) and the hands behind @itsonlypasta a project I started during Covid, back when everything was weird and the only thing that made sense was dough.

At first, it was just me and my dad Mario, dropping off handmade pasta around the city like a lowkey Uber Eats. I didn’t think it’d become my whole life. But slowly, the side hustle took over. I quit my job, threw myself into pasta full time, and never looked back.

Fast forward, I’ve done catering gigs, couple collabs and pop-ups, and eventually found myself in this beautifully chaotic kitchen where I cook, mess up, learn, repeat.

One afternoon, Catherine St-Laurent from Mise en Place sat at my bar, and basically gave me a TED talk on substack. I’d never heard of it. But when I checked it out, it felt like the exact thing I didn’t know I needed. A space to slow down, share my recipes, obsess over ingredients, and actually connect with people fr.

So ya, that’s what this space is for.

If you’re tryna level up your pasta game, I gotchu. You’ll find recipes you can throw together in your sweatpants, tips, step-by-step pasta tutorial, all that. Most recipes work with dry pasta too, so no stress if you’re not kneading anything (yet).

Smash that subscribe button and bring water to a boil.

Em

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FUSILLI AL RAGÙ BIANCO DI SALSICCIA

FOR 2

• 250g fresh fusilli

• 2 Italian sausages 

• 1 tsp fennel seeds

• 1 tsp chili flakes

• 1 clove garlic, minced

• ½ cup white wine, optional

• ½ cup heavy cream

• Zest of 1 orange

• 1 cup kale, roughly chopped

• Extra virgin olive oil

• Pecorino Romano, finely grated

HOW

1. Cook the fusilli in salted boiling water until al dente. Reserve ½ cup of pasta water.

2. Remove the sausage casings. With clean hands, break down the sausage meat with the fennel seeds in a bowl.

3. In a pan over medium heat, cook the sausage meat in olive oil until browned and fully cooked, breaking it further with a spoon as needed.

4. Stir in the garlic and cook for another minute. Deglaze the pan with white wine, scraping up any browned bits, and let it reduce slightly.

5. Lower the heat and stir in the heavy cream, half of the orange zest, and kale. Simmer until the kale wilts and the sauce thickens slightly.

6. Toss the cooked fusilli into the pan, adding pasta water as needed to bind.

7. Plate and finish with a drizzle of olive oil, a first snow of Pecorino Romano and the rest of orange zest.

WORD

• You can swap fusilli for any short pasta you fuck with.

• First snow meaning to sprinkle the cheese lightly and evenly on the plate

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