Between the first draft of this chapter and dinner, penne and rigatoni switched assignments. Penne rigate went to Sicily with pasta alla Norma. Rigatoni went to Rome with arrabbiata. Paccheri kept Naples and a long-cooked meat sauce.

As for the wine pairings, we mostly followed the regional rules set forth in our mission. Sicily stayed with Sicily. Campania stayed with Campania. However, Lazio got Tuscany. Instead of pouring wines from around Rome with the arrabbiata, I opened a vertical of Podere Le Boncie “Le Trame” from the hills of Chianti Classico. Although Le Trame is technically a Toscana IGT wine, it’s part of the consistent wave of Chianti producers who are willing to think outside the box to make the best wines from their terroir. And after spending an evening in Rome drinking Frascati and Cesanese, we wanted to do what any tourist in Rome would do if they found themselves staring at a bowl of spicy tomato pasta and a wine list: they would probably order Chianti. We decided to take that ordinary act seriously with this mini-vertical of the widely beloved Le Boncie wines.

Before we dig into the food and wine pairings, these are the questions I posed to the table: could Etna’s wines come down to the level of fried eggplant and tomato of the alla Norma? Would Sangiovese calm the chile or turn up the heat in the arrabbiata? Could white wine survive a Neapolitan meat sauce? Would the most ambitious bottles be the most useful ones?

As usual, the table was split.

Penne Rigate alla Norma

We began in Sicily with penne rigate alla Norma: hand-crushed San Marzano tomatoes, fried eggplant, ricotta salata, basil, and a healthy amount of olive oil.

The white flight opened with the 2025 Tenuta delle Terre Nere Etna Bianco, a Carricante-led blend from several sides of the volcano. It was fresh, bright, and easy in the best sense. It did not fight the tomato or the eggplant. Some at the table called it basic. In a flight of ambitious wines, basic often wins, and the wine let the dish remain the star of the table.

Next up 2020 and 2019 Benanti Pietra Marina. Both wines 100% Carricante from Contrada Rinazzo in Milo, on Etna’s wet, sea-facing eastern slope. The wines had a hint of smoke above a dense and rich sea foam. The noses were to die for. Then we ate, and our palates never quite jived with the dish.

We had seen this before with Marisa Cuomo Fiorduva and a couple of the Quintodecimo wines in our first summer dinner. A wine can be revelatory on its own and still make a casual plate feel secondary. Pietra Marina did not fail. The pairing did. The pasta couldn’t match the wines’ seriousness, and the wines did not make us want another bite; just another sip.

Then came the 2024 COS Rami, a skin-contact white made from Grillo and Inzolia. (Almost) everyone hated it. Yet a few admitted that the wine worked with the eggplant. Its tannin and savory bitterness found the fried eggplant skin, oil, and ricotta salata in a way the cleaner whites did not. Nobody suddenly loved the wine. But the food gave it a reason to be at the table. We will embrace a small victory!

The red wines made Sicily look even less like one place. The 2024 Gulfi Cerasuolo di Vittoria, a blend of Nero d’Avola and Frappato, split the room. Some thought it was an easy wine. Others thought its cherry fruit, perfume, and modest tannin were exactly right for the dish. The same quality was being used as both insult and evidence. Sometimes easy is not a lack of seriousness. Sometimes easy means the wine understood its place on the table.

The 2024 Tenuta delle Terre Nere Etna Rosso brought smoke, red fruit, and a darker aromatic tone. A few of us worried about oak, but what we were reading as wood may have been smoke, reduction, or the volcanic nuances we were already primed to find from the slopes of Etna. Unfazed by the pairing here.

The 2024 Passopisciaro Passorosso was deep, nuanced, and rich, with an iron streak running through its aroma and flavor. It was one of the more complete young reds in the flight, but it did not win the pairing. Again, the best wine and the most useful wine refused to be the same thing.

The 2016 Calabretta Nerello Mascalese Vigne Vecchie was the argument in the room. Calabretta works with old vines, long macerations, and as many as six or seven years in large old casks before release. Some tasters found the wine aged, lean, and thin and wondered why it felt so old. Fair enough. As for the pairing, the brightness of the dish remained a little too youthful for the pairing.

There was no clean winner in Sicily. The alla Norma did not reward prestige, age, or volcanic expression and importance. It rewarded freshness, flexibility, and a willingness to let eggplant remain bitter, and tomato remain tomato. The simplest red may have understood the assignment best. The least popular white found one of the evening’s most defensible connections. The great Carricante wines were better wines than pairings. Boh.

Rigatoni all’Arrabbiata

The second course moved north to Lazio. Rigatoni all’arrabbiata, “fiery, spicy, angry,” featured San Marzano tomatoes, passata, garlic, and chile. And for wines, we brought five vintages of Podere Le Boncie Le Trame from Tuscany.

We called it our Chianti flight in the loose, wine-list sense. Giovanna Morganti withdrew Le Trame from Chianti Classico classification and now releases it as Toscana IGT, but the estate sits near Castelnuovo Berardenga and speaks the language of the place: Sangiovese, farmed biodynamically, wooden fermenters, and used Stockinger botte in the cellar, herbs, iron, sour cherry, earth, acid, and the grain of tannin in the glass.

Red chile can be unforgiving. Alcohol can make it hotter. Tannin can become dry and combative. Acidity can refresh, but it can also sharpen both tomato and spice. This was not a question of whether Sangiovese belongs with tomato. It was a question of which Sangiovese, based on Mother Nature and vintage characteristics, could keep its balance once the tomato got angry.

The 2021 Le Trame was young, concentrated, and exciting. With the pasta, wine and dish moved in parallel. Neither transformed the other, but each kept pace. Maybe that is one definition of a good pairing: two things walking step by step without interrupting the other’s rhythm?

The 2020 carried more generosity in the glass, which the group read as sweetness or richness, and allowed it to sit on the same page as the tomato and chile. It absorbed the heat without trying to erase it.

The 2019 was the disappointment with the pasta. Its tannins felt drying, and the wine offered little companionship or elevation to the arrabbiata. When the salad course arrived: a salad of tomatoes, fried capers, sourdough croutons, and bottarga; suddenly the wine was impeccable. Salt, crunch, acid, and the savory depth of bottarga gave the tannin a purpose. The wrong wine for the pasta course became the right wine for the dinner.

The 2018 was glorious and abundant on the nose, the kind of wine you wanted to sit with for a few hours. Its lighter weight on the palate, however, integrated gently with the sauce. It did not dominate the chile, and it did not disappear either.

Did Tuscany belong with Rome? At the table, the regionality rule of this endeavor hardly felt broken at all. The 2021 and 2020 did the most useful work. The 2018 slipped into the dish through perfume and lightness. The 2019 missed the pasta and found the salad.

No vintage was universally superior, and it is a humbling reminder that wine pairing is not a math problem to be solved, but a living dialogue between Mother Nature, the producer’s style, the chef’s hand, and the taster’s palate.

Paccheri with Neapolitan Meat Sauce

By the third course, the sauce had become dangerous. The paccheri arrived with San Marzano tomatoes, passata, beef stew, pork ribs, and a red wine reduction. This was less a strict Neapolitan meat sauce than an elevated Italian-American Sunday sauce with Naples in its bones. It was dense, savory, sweet from long cooking, and full of umami.

Paccheri made the pairing even more demanding. The large tubes carried sauce inside and out, sometimes hiding a piece of meat and sometimes delivering a nearly bare bite. The wine had to survive both concentration and surprise.

We began with two Mastroberardino whites: the 2024 Falanghina del Sannio and the 2023 Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio Bianco, made from Caprettone; i.e., Coda del Volpe. Both are fermented in stainless steel without oak, but they describe different Campanias. Falanghina brings the inland hills, flowers, citrus, and lift. Lacryma Christi brings Vesuvius, yellow fruit, smoke, and a broader texture.

Neither did much for the dish. I hate to be the one to say it out loud, but the whites were overmatched. Acid and umami can work, and white wine can be brilliant with tomato, but acid is not a chainsaw. It cannot cut through everything simply because we ask it to. The meat, reduction, and concentrated sauce swallowed the wines whole. They may have refreshed between bites, but they did not become part of the sauce.

Then came the two Mastroberardino reds, and the course settled into place. The 2019 Radici Taurasi and 2017 Radici Taurasi Riserva are both 100% Aglianico, built through long aging in oak casks followed by years in bottle. They were bright, fruitful, balanced, and fully integrated with the dish. The sauce gave the tannin its job. Fat and meat softened the wines, while Aglianico’s acidity returned us to the tomato. These were the two clear winners of the course.

Montevetrano offered a different version of Campania. The 2020 Core Rosso is 100% Aglianico, but its time in new French oak gives it a more immediate, polished frame. The 2020 Montevetrano goes further, blending Aglianico with Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot and leans into concentration, long maceration, and new barrique.

There was general appreciation for Montevetrano. It was a big, Western-style red wine, dark, composed, and built to be more drinkable in its youth. Then the table began discussing why the wine existed and what its winemaking was trying to accomplish. Once the conversation leaves the plate and moves into strategy, ambition, and the wine’s purpose in life, the pairing has probably already lost.

Core and Montevetrano fell short that night. They may belong on another table, with another dish, at another time. The Radici wines did not need to explain themselves. They met the meat, carried the tomato, and made the paccheri feel right at home.

Campania gave us the cleanest answer of the evening. Regional identity was not guaranteed by origin or even by the presence of Aglianico. It appeared when the wine behaved like part of the meal. The most traditional wines were not merely correct. They were useful.

And Here We Are

The tubes looked like the theme, but they became part of the experiment. Penne rigate delivered tomato, eggplant, and ricotta in an even, complete bite. Rigatoni gave the arrabbiata more reach and made every encounter with chile more consequential. Paccheri stored the sauce inside, then released it all at once. Shape changed the amount of sauce the wine had to answer to.

Sicily showed us that an important wine can be too serious for a casual dish, while an easy red can be exactly right. Tuscany showed us that the map can bend when crossing borders makes sense. Campania showed us that white wine cannot survive on acidity alone, and that the biggest red is not automatically the strongest partner.

We went into dinner asking whether regional wine belongs with regional cooking and food. We left with a less orderly question: what if belonging is not only a matter of address, but of behavior? The wines that belonged knew when to brighten tomato, when to absorb chile, when to accept eggplant, and when to bring enough tannin for meat. They did not need to be the greatest wines in the room. They needed to keep us eating.

~

Pasta illustrations by our dear friend and artist, Amber Vittoria.

This chapter is about daily pasta. Penne and ziti are not fragile shapes. If spaghetti is the origin story of Italian pasta, these are the shapes that made Italian pasta modern. And they are built for repetition: tomato, oil, meat, and the practical, maybe the late-night, box in the pantry.

Penne rigate and penne lisce begin with the same idea, the tube, but they do not behave the same way. One grips. One slides. Ziti and candele stretch the idea back toward Naples, Sunday, and ceremony, long tubes broken by hand before being tossed into the pot.

However, this isn’t just about summer pasta; when paired with the right sauces, these shapes give the preeminent summer vegetable, the tomato, a vehicle that drives with the top down.

Penne Rigate

Penne rigate may be the most familiar short pasta in the world, which makes it easy to overlook. But this is pasta with a big job: hold sauce, catch texture, and make tomato feel complete. The ridges are not decoration. They are function. Its predecessor and sibling, penne lisce, we will get into in a minute.

• History: Penne comes from the word penna, meaning “quill,” a reference to the angled cut that resembles the nib of a pen. The shape’s “patent” traces to Genoa in 1865, but the ridged version didn’t become popular until after World War II.

• Shape: Short, hollow tubes with angled ends and ridged sides.

• Texture: Sturdy, structured, and sauce-gripping. The ridges give the pasta more traction than its smooth sibling.

• Filling: None.

• Sauce: Tomato-based sauces, especially those built with vegetables, tomato, cheese, and oil, need a pasta with edges.

• One Bite: A ridged tube catching the texture on the outside and carrying the sauce inside the hollow center. Firm, practical, deeply satisfying.

• White Wine: Acid-driven whites with enough brightness to meet tomato and enough texture to handle oil and cheese.

• Red Wine: Medium-bodied, savory reds with acidity and restraint.

• Final Thought: Penne rigate became famous because it is useful. It will forgive imperfect time spent cooking, and on the plate, it holds its texture and makes ordinary tomato sauce feel like dinner.

Penne Lisce

Penne lisce is all of the above, stripped of texture: smooth, angled, and hollow. If Penne rigate grips, Penne lisce glides. That makes it harder to love on the fork, but also more revealing.

• History: Penne lisce is likely closer to the original 1865 patent. As above, its name originates from penna, meaning “quill.” Lisce means “smooth,” and the slanted ends were designed to draw up sauce like a pen nib draws ink. I mean, seriously? So cute.

• Shape: Short, hollow tubes with angled ends and smooth sides.

• Texture: Sleeker and less forgiving than Penne rigate. It does not hide behind ridges, so the pasta and sauce have to be right.

• Filling: None.

• Sauce: Arrabbiata. Tomato, garlic, chili, and oil. A sauce with enough heat and intensity to cling even when the pasta refuses to help.

• One Bite: Smooth pasta, bright tomato, heat at the edges. Less grip, more slide.

• White Wine: Acid-driven whites that keep the tomato and chili fresh.

• Red Wine: Medium-bodied, savory reds with acidity, but nothing heavy or soft.

• Final Thought: Penne lisce does not forgive you the way penne rigate does. If the sauce is thin, everyone knows it.

Ziti (& Candele)

Ziti belongs to Naples, to Sunday, to ceremony, to the sound of dry pasta being broken by hand before it meets the pot. It is less about convenience than occasion. Even when dried and boxed, it carries the feeling of a table being set for more people than expected. It reminds me of Brooklyn.

• History: Ziti means “bride and/or groom” in Neapolitan dialect, tying the pasta to weddings and celebrations. Candele, meaning “candles,” are larger, longer tubes, also broken before cooking.

• Shape: Long, smooth tubes of dried semolina pasta, traditionally broken by hand before cooking. Candele are a larger version of ziti.

• Texture: Smooth, hollow, and substantial. Broken lengths make the bite irregular.

• Filling: None.

• Sauce: Neapolitan ragu, meat and tomato. A sauce that takes time on the stove.

• One Bite: A tube filled with sauce, carrying meat and tomato together, crowded, and alive.

• White Wine: Savory whites with enough body to stand beside a meat sauce.

• Red Wine: Medium-bodied, savory reds with acidity and enough structure for a meat sauce.

• Final Thought: Ziti is not just a pasta shape. It is the sound of Naples, and closer to home, the Italian-American household, breaking something to share, so everyone can eat.

By the end of summer, the tomato does not need delicacy. It needs capacity. Penne and ziti are pantry pastas, built to hold what the season gives: vegetables, garlic, chili, oil, meat, and a little too much sauce. They remind us that summer pasta is not only about lightness, but abundance, appetite, and the pleasure of feeding whoever is at the table.

Recipes: Throughout the Italian Dinner Party substack, we find pasta popping up in many chapters: with our recommendation of a meat sauce for our ziti, you can check out the Italian-American chapter for a red sauce and some meatballs; in our section on Pantry Pasta you will find a recipe for penne alla vodka. And in our first chapter on Pasta, we had to introduce the world to Sicily’s beloved Alla Norma. Buon appetito!

Pasta drawings by our dear friend, Amber Vittoria

Summer pastas: spaghetti, linguine, pici.

Spaghetti asks for a fork and a spoon, and a table that can tolerate a mess. Tomato sauce, clam shells, garlic, olive oil, and a few strong opinions about Sangiovese. After the broth and butter of winter, after the green lift of spring, summer gave us something more direct. Tomato. Basil. Clams. Garlic. Salt. Heat. Basta.

For our summer pastas and wine pairings, we turned toward Campania and Tuscany. Why Tuscany? Mostly because pici lives in the same “long pasta” category as spaghetti, even if it eats like something entirely different.

Campania gave us spaghetti with tomato and basil, followed by linguine with clams. Tuscany gave us rustic pici with blistered cherry tomatoes and garlic. Three long pastas. Three versions of summer.

The questions were clear before the first wine was poured. Does tomato want white wine or red wine? Does clam pasta belong only to the sea and to white wine, or can a red wine find its way in through salt and acidity? Does the pasta shape itself change the pairing? And when does a great wine (see below for what we mean) become too much for a casual dish?

As usual, the table answered honestly.

Spaghetti with Tomato and Basil

We began with the most elemental plate of the evening: spaghetti with tomato and basil.

There is nowhere to hide with this dish. Tomato carries fruit, acid, sweetness, and skin. Basil brings perfume, green snap, and a little pepper. Olive oil rounds the edges. The pasta brings starch and gives the dish its structure. It looks easy until a wine gets involved.

The first flight came from Campania, led by Quintodecimo in Irpinia. Quintodecimo is located in the rugged mountains east of Naples, where elevation, Apennine influence, rainfall, and wide day-night temperature swings shape wine style. The wines we tasted were not shy. Luigi Moio, proprietor and professor of enology at the University of Naples, works in a polished, modern style, and at first taste the group found the wines intense, deeply colored, rich, and serious. There was a question at the table about whether these whites, especially with barrel influence and a more ambitious style, would be too much for a plate of tomato and basil.

Then we ate.

The 2024 Via del Campo Falanghina brought citrus, lime, fresh herbs, flowers, and salt. With the basil, it was immediate. One of those rare pairings where nobody has to explain very much. The wine made the basil feel greener, and the tomato feel brighter. It did not dominate the dish; it sharpened it.

The 2024 Giallo d’Arles Greco was more complicated. Greco is the most structured of Campania’s trio of great white grapes: deeper in color, more phenolic, smoky, stony, mineral, and briny. On its own, the wine felt rich, slightly short, and a little bitter. With the pasta, it became the best pairing of the flight. The bitterness found the tomato skin. The structure met the starch. The wine softened, and the wine pairing lengthened with each bite.

The 2024 Exultet Fiano brought the softer, more herbal side of Campania. Fiano can move from citrus and flowers toward honey, thyme, nuts, and waxy texture with age. With the dish, the tomato leaf character came forward. The pairing was less electric than the Falanghina and less structurally surprising than the Greco, but it had a quiet resonance. It made the dish feel more savory and more grown in the garden.

Then came Marisa Cuomo’s 2023 Fiorduva from the Amalfi Coast, a wine made from rare, hyper-local white grape varieties: Fenile, Ginestra, and Ripoli. Fenile brings golden richness. Ginestra brings flowers and freshness. Ripoli brings structure and salt. The wine is textured, coastal, and exotic, with tropical fruit, herbs, almond, dried fruit, and a salty edge.

It was one of our favorite drinking wines of the night. It was not one of the best pairings.

The slight wood bitterness in the wine pushed against the simplicity of the spaghetti. The dish wanted brightness, lift, and a return to tomato and basil. The Fiorduva did not quite offer that; it may have been better suited to richer seafood, grilled fish, or a dish with more fat and depth.

By the end of the first course, the tomato question had risen in volume. Could white wine respect the (overall) dish’s simplicity? Tomato and basil do not need weight. They need acidity, herbaceousness, salt, and just enough texture to blend well.

Linguine with Clams

The second Campanian dish moved from the garden to the sea: linguine with clams, the clams cooked down with wine and parsley.

This is another dish that pretends to be delicate. It is not. Clam liquor, garlic, parsley, olive oil, wine, and pasta water build a broth with real nuance. It is briny, oily, saline, herbal, and starchy. The wine has to refresh.

Villa Matilde began the flight. Founded by Francesco Paolo Avallone in the 1960s, Villa Matilde was created in part to revive the historic Falerno area and its ancient Campanian varieties. Hello, Monte Massico and my “Massican” inspiration. The Villa Matilde estate later expanded into Irpinia, working volcanic and calcareous soils across several Campanian zones. These wines arrived in a softer, more accessible style than the Quintodecimo wines.

The 2024 Falanghina was bright and fruit-forward, with pineapple, yellow peach, flowers, hay, rose, and sage. The 2024 Greco brought white peach, apricot, sweet almond, mineral, and citrus. The group noticed a touch of sweetness or roundness in the wines, and with the linguine and clams, that roundness mattered. It did not make the wines feel simple. The clam broth kept them alive. Salt and fruit find balance.

Then came Ciro Picariello’s 2022 Fiano 906.

Picariello is one of Irpinia’s great Fiano producers, working organically around Summonte and Montefredane, with a restrained cellar approach built around native yeasts, stainless steel, and minimal intervention. The 906 bottling comes from a high-elevation Summonte parcel, roughly 650 meters, and is made only in cooler years when there is enough acidity to support it. This was a serious wine, but not a heavy one. Fresh, vivacious, mineral, and savory, it found the dish immediately. The wine had the energy for the clams and the texture for the pasta. It was one of the cleanest matches of the evening.

And then came the surprise: Mastroberardino 2016 Radici Taurasi.

Aglianico with linguine and clams sounds wrong on paper. Boo? But not at the table. Taurasi is one of southern Italy’s great red wines: dark-fruited, savory, high in tannin and acidity, built for age, and not usually invited to a seafood dinner. But the 2016 had softened in the right places. With the briny saltiness of the clams, the wine became fresh and vibrant on the palate. The salt pulled the acidity forward. The tannins did not fight the dish. The pairing begged for another sip.

This was the kind of result that makes a tasting group useful. Nobody would build the pairing by textbook. Nobody would write it down as the obvious choice. But at the table, it worked.

Pici with Cherry Tomatoes and Garlic

For the Tuscan course, the pasta changed the entire conversation.

Pici is long pasta, but it is not spaghetti. It is hand-rolled, rustic, and thick. Chef compared it to Play-Doh, which is not wrong in the best possible way. Pici has chew. It has grip. It makes you pay attention to the pasta itself, not only to the sauce.

The dish was pici with blistered cherry tomatoes and garlic.

The table had moved inland. The wines were from Chianti Classico and Radda, where Sangiovese carries red fruit, acidity, earth, flowers, and dusty tannins.

Tenuta di Carleone’s 2022 Chianti Classico opened the flight. Carleone, based in Radda, works in a freshness-first, Sangiovese-focused style, with high-altitude vineyards that preserve lift and tension. The wine was fresh, transparent, and almost exactly what the dish wanted. It met the tomato’s acidity without overwhelming the garlic. It had enough tannin for the chew of the pici, but not so much that the pairing became serious. This was summer Sangiovese: red wine with lift.

Montevertine followed, also from Radda, and also committed to the old Tuscan language of Sangiovese, Canaiolo, Colorino, large oak, restraint, and transparency. Montevertine famously left the Chianti Classico framework decades ago, but never left the Tuscan table.

The 2019 Pian del Ciampolo should have been a natural fit. It is Montevertine’s most immediate wine, built from Sangiovese with small amounts of Canaiolo and Colorino, usually brings a hint of tart cherry, wild plum, and the scent of fresh flowers. But this bottle did not show well. The group found it aldehydic, possibly microbial, maybe marked by a fermentation or storage issue. Such is life with a bottle of wine.

The 2018 Montevertine was the wine that brought the flight back into focus. Dry, classic, soft, earthy, transparent. Someone described it as summer sun, lightly drying on your skin. It carried the tomato and garlic without making the dish feel heavier than it was. The wine’s earth and gentle tannin met the rustic pasta, while the acidity kept the tomatoes as the main character. This was not a flashy pairing. It was a correct one.

Then came the 2017 Le Pergole Torte, Montevertine’s flagship and one of Tuscany’s great Sangiovese wines.

The wine was dry, complex, deep, and important. It was also too much for the dish.

This may have been the clearest lesson of the Tuscan flight: great wine is not always a useful wine. Le Pergole Torte carried too much gravitas for a casual plate of pici. The dish was rustic and sunny. The wine wanted more, not this summer plate.

The Carleone and the 2018 Montevertine understood the assignment. They gave the pici enough structure and freshness while preserving the season. The Le Pergole Torte reminded us that being important can become a flaw.

And Here We Are

By the end of the evening, the long pastas had done what they were supposed to do. They made the table argue in ways that reflected the tangled spaghetti on the plate.

Spaghetti with tomato and basil reminded us that simple dishes are rarely simple pairings. The wine has to find the fresh garden notes of the basil, the acid of the tomato, and the quiet structure of the pasta. Falanghina lifted it. Greco surprised us. Fiano deepened it. Fiorduva, beautiful as it was, muted it.

Linguine with clams reminded us that the sea is not only a flavor. It is a force. Salt can make a wine feel sharper, brighter, and more alive. That is why the Picariello Fiano worked so clearly, and why the Taurasi shocked us by working at all.

Pici reminded us that pasta shape matters. A thicker, chewier, more rustic pasta can take more tannin, more earth, and more red wine. But there is a line. Sangiovese can be perfect with tomato and garlic when it remains fresh and transparent. When it becomes too grand, the plate pushes back.

So what has the summer taught us so far?

It taught us what we have been experiencing so far: that regional pairing is not a textbook formula. Campania did not simply mean white wine with seafood. Tuscany did not simply mean red wine with tomato. The best combinations were about acidity, salt, starch, herb, tannin, and mood. They were about whether the wine made the pasta taste more like itself.

And maybe that is the standard for this project. Not the perfect pairing. Not the clever pairing. Not the famous bottle. The useful one. The one that brings you back to the plate. The one that makes the dish taste more regional, more seasonal, and more alive. I got a lot of Master Somms in my tasting group, and I know they are chomping at the bit to dig into the pairings for all these pastas…. To be continued!

~

Pasta drawings by our friend, Amber Vittoria.

There was spaghetti.

The first chapters of this pasta compendium explored form and structure. Winter taught us that shape could define a dish. Rome taught us that sauce could lead and pasta could follow. Spring brought us into the freshness of the garden. And summer begins with something more fundamental: the comfort of a long strand of pasta.

In everyday language, many of these shapes are simply called “spaghetti.” But the distinction matters. Spaghetti, linguine, and pici may appear similar at first glance, yet each carries sauce differently, each emerges from a different landscape, and each tells a different regional story.

Summer is a chapter about simplicity. Flour. Water. Time. A strand of pasta long enough to wrap around a fork. A bowl of pasta deep enough to stretch our day into the evening.

This is the first of three chapters on Summer pastas. Let’s dig into it.

Spaghetti

Spaghetti may be the most recognizable pasta in the world, but its familiarity often obscures its importance. Derived from spago, meaning “string” or “twine,” spaghetti became the defining pasta of Southern Italy and eventually the symbol of Italian food itself.

History: While long dried noodles existed throughout the Mediterranean, spaghetti became closely associated with Naples and Southern Italy, where durum wheat and dried pasta production flourished. Its global popularity transformed it from a regional staple to a cultural icon.

• Shape: Long, round strands of dried pasta.

• Texture: This is where bronze-cut pasta matters; the rougher the surface, the more it helps sauce cling. Overall, firm, elastic, and versatile. Smooth enough to coat evenly, yet substantial enough to carry a range of sauces.

• Filling: None.

• Sauce: Tomato sauces, aglio e olio, seafood, and countless regional variations.

• One Bite: A forkful twisted tightly, carrying equal parts pasta and sauce, one of the most perfectly balanced bites in Italian cooking.

• White Wine: Bright, coastal whites with freshness and acidity.

• Red Wine: Medium-bodied reds with enough acidity to meet tomato-based sauces.

• Final Thought: “Everything you see, I owe to spaghetti.” - Sophia Loren

Linguine

Linguine sits between spaghetti and fettuccine - a flattened strand whose shape feels almost tailor-made for the Mediterranean coast. It is one of Italy’s great seafood pastas.

History: Linguine originated in Liguria, where olive oil, herbs, and seafood dominate the table. The name comes from linguetta, meaning “little tongue,” a reference to its flattened profile. Also known in Genoa as bavette, or “little threads” carrying a similar meaning to spaghetti.

• Shape: Long, narrow, flattened strands.

• Texture: More surface area than spaghetti, allowing delicate sauces to cling without overwhelming the pasta.

• Filling: None.

• Sauce: Pesto Genovese, clams, shellfish, olive oil, lemon, and herbs.

• One Bite: Pasta coated in olive oil and herbs, carrying the flavor of the sea just behind it.

• White Wine: Saline, mineral-driven whites with citrus and freshness.

• Red Wine: Rarely necessary. If served, keep it light and cool.

• Final Thought: Linguine is proof that pasta can taste coastal.

Pici

Pici is Tuscany’s answer to spaghetti, larger, rougher, and entirely unconcerned with elegance. Hand-rolled and imperfect, it celebrates the beauty of simplicity and cucina povera, where a handful of humble ingredients can become something deeply satisfying.

History: Pici originated in southern Tuscany, particularly around Siena and the Val d’Orcia. Traditionally made from flour and water alone, it reflects the resourcefulness of rural cooking.

• Shape: Thick, hand-rolled strands, irregular by design.

• Texture: Chewy, rustic, and substantial. Every strand feels handmade.

• Filling: None.

• Sauce: Aglione - not just garlic, but the large, rare garlic of the Valdichina, if you can find it - breadcrumbs, olive oil, wild boar ragu, and simple garlic-based sauces.

• One Bite: Thick pasta with enough chew to remind you that someone rolled it by hand.

• White Wine: Structured whites with texture and savory character.

• Red Wine: Tuscan reds with acidity and earthiness.

• Final Thought: Pici remind us that perfection was never the goal.

~

If winter gathers around the fire, and spring opens the garden, summer simply sets another place at the table.

In Southern Italy and Tuscany, summer arrives through olive oil, tomatoes, garlic, seafood, and wheat. Long pasta becomes less about architecture and more about rhythm, twirling, sharing, lingering.

Recipes: Throughout our Italian Dinner Party substack, we find spaghetti popping up in three chapters, especially when we lean into spaghetti as a staple of our pantry - spaghetti al limone, aglio e olio, and puttanesca. And in two chapters on pasta alone, we offer a recipe for spaghetti carbonara and spaghetti and clams. Enjoy!

Pasta drawings by our friend, Amber Vittoria.

For this chapter of our year-long exploration of pasta and wine pairings, our tasting group turned toward Liguria and Friuli-Venezia Giulia, two regions where spring cooking feels less about richness and more about freshness, texture, bitterness, and perfume.

The Ligurian pairings appeared deceptively simple. On the other hand, the Friulian-filled pasta was complex and thought-provoking. And, throughout the night, we kept returning to the same questions:

How much of the pairing is about the sauce versus the pasta itself? What matters more: acidity, texture, or flavor similarity? And perhaps most importantly, when does the old idea of “what grows together goes together” actually hold true?

As the wines were poured and the plates were emptied, the answers became less certain and much more interesting.

Trofie, Mandilli, and Pesto (Liguria)

The Ligurian flight may have been the clearest expression of regional pairing logic we have encountered so far.

Trofie and mandilli are two radically different pasta experiences sharing the same pesto. Trofie, the twisted hand-rolled pasta associated with Genoa, carried elasticity and chew, while the classic addition of green beans brought snap and crunch to the dish. Mandilli, loosely translated as “silk handkerchiefs,” felt entirely different: thin sheets of delicate pasta with almost no resistance, allowing the pesto to sit softly and elegantly across the palate.

And yet, despite the same sauce, the wines behaved differently with each pasta.

The pesto itself was deeply traditional: basil, olive oil, cheese, nuts, garlic. But even the word “traditional” became complicated throughout the night. Is there truly one Genovese pesto? Read twenty Italian cookbooks, and you may find twenty slightly different variations. Sit at twenty Ligurian family tables, and the recipe changes again. More garlic here. Less cheese there. Pine nuts replaced. Olive oil adjusted. The idea of one definitive local pairing may itself be an illusion.

Still, the Ligurian wines often felt inevitable with the food.

The Laura Aschero Pigato 2024 and Vermentino 2024 emerged as consensus favorites with the pesto. Laura Aschero, long celebrated for elevating the quality and identity of Ligurian wines, crafts wines that feel inseparable from the coastline itself. The Pigato carried tremendous texture and brininess, with savory herbs and stone fruit wrapped in salty Mediterranean air. The Vermentino was more lifted and herbaceous, full of citrus, fresh flowers, and sea spray. Both wines seemed to understand pesto.

The pairings worked not because the wines mimicked the flavors of the dish, but because they aligned structurally with olive oil, herbs, and bitterness. The wine’s acidity sharpened the basil. The saltiness amplified the cheese and melded with the olive oil. The wines refreshed, and our palates asked for a second sip, and a second bite.

The Ottaviano Lambruschi Vermentino 2024 may have been the most beautiful individual wine of the flight. Richer and texturally broader than the others, it showed tremendous polish and depth. Yet it struggled beside the trofie. The wine seemed almost too complete on its own. On the other side, it performed better with the mandilli, where the silky sheets of pasta allowed the wine’s elegance to emerge more naturally.

The Lunae Bosoni Vermentino 2024, one of Liguria’s largest estates, produced the opposite reaction. The wine was flashy and aromatic, but surprisingly flat beside the food; the wine never found a rhythm with either pasta.

And then came the single red wine.

Punta Crena Rossese 2024 reminded us once again that Liguria often ignores conventional wine logic. Rossese, the region’s pale, maritime red, carried notes of spice, dried herbs, blood orange, and pepper. Rather than fighting the pesto, the wine absorbed it. The slight bitterness in the sauce became more pronounced, while the savory edges of the Rossese deepened. It was not necessarily the most harmonious pairing of the evening, but perhaps one of the most intellectually interesting.

By the end of the Ligurian course, we found ourselves returning to the old phrase: what grows together goes together.

Cjarsons (Friuli-Venezia Giulia)

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If Liguria brought a bit of clarity to our study, Friuli brought beautiful confusion. (Insert a Fellini film here.)

Cjarsons may end up being the most fascinating dish of this entire project. Part dumpling, part ravioli, part sweet-savory hallucination, the dish felt almost impossible to categorize. Ricotta, potato, cinnamon, dried apricot, mint, smoked ricotta, herbs, sugar, spice. At times, it resembled apple pie. At others, a pierogi. Then, suddenly, something entirely Alpine and agricultural folklore.

It was delicious. But it also forced an uncomfortable question to a table of wine professionals:

Does every dish actually need a wine pairing?

Disclosure: Because of my personal and professional relationship with Friuli, this course carried emotional weight. Massican’s flagship wine, Annia, was inspired directly by Friuli. I made wine in Friuli for five years. I have shared meals, stories, and glasses with many of the producers behind these bottles. Inevitably, I overserved the number of wines for the course. Chef Sarah, wisely anticipating this reality, over-prepared the number of cjarsons.

The Venica Friulano 2023 was, to me, the pairing of the night. Venica has long been one of Friuli’s benchmark estates, crafting wines that balance freshness with Friulian flavor and texture. Friulano itself remains one of Italy’s great food wines: almond, chamomile, pear skin, herbs, gentle bitterness. With the cjarsons the wine became intensely herbal and tea-like, carrying a snap of green apple acidity that refreshed the dish beautifully.

The tasting group, however, was unconvinced.

The Miani Friulano 2023 arrived from the opposite direction entirely. Enzo Pontoni’s wines are legendary for their concentration and intensity, often described as “Super Friulian.” Initially dominated by oak, the wine slowly opened to reveal Tocai Friulano’s classic bitter almond character. Rich, broad, and layered, it matched the dish’s weight and density more than its flavors.

The Duline Friulano 2022, from the biodynamic estate deeply inspired by natural farming philosophies, carried oxidative tones of baked apple and dried herbs. Intense and contemplative, it felt less like a pairing and more like an additional ingredient on the table. Swoon, if you want to.

The Pinot Grigio flight brought further complexity.

Duline’s 2022 bottling felt fresh, mineral, and tightly wound. Venica’s 2023 Ramato-style Pinot Grigio seemed, on paper, destined for success with the sweet-savory character of the cjarsons. Yet somehow the pairing never fully connected.

Perhaps my assumptions for the pairings were the problem.

The same could be said for the Ronco di Cialla Ribolla Gialla 2024. Ribolla, with its tension, citrus peel, and nervous acidity, felt theoretically perfect for the dish. But theory rarely survives on the table.

The pairing failed.

The red wines that followed were universally admired for their individuality. Ronco di Cialla Schioppettino 2023 carried pepper, violets, herbs, and freshness. Duline Schioppettino 2023 felt earthier and darker, while the Duline Refosco 2019 showed smoke, black fruit, bitter herbs, and a touch of sweetness that had settled beautifully into age.

All three wines were delicious.

None solved the puzzle of the cjarsons.

And Here We Are

As the evening came to an end, we realized we had spent less time identifying “perfect pairings” and more time interrogating the very idea of pairing itself.

The Ligurian wines and pastas seemed to support centuries of regional wisdom. Olive oil, basil, herbs, salt air, Vermentino, Pigato. Everything appeared connected by geography and culture.

Friuli complicated that narrative entirely.

The wines were beautiful. The dish was fascinating. Yet the connections were less obvious.

Perhaps regional pairings are not universal truths, but local conversations shaped by memory, household traditions, and personal taste. No two kitchens make the same pesto. No two cooks make the same cjarsons. The table is more complicated than the map. Why should we expect a single perfect pairing? Perhaps the wines themselves have evolved toward export markets and away from the regional table? Or perhaps dishes like cjarsons were never meant to be solved analytically with a wine pairing?

What became increasingly clear throughout the night was that the best pairings rarely announce themselves immediately. They make you want another bite, then another sip, then another bite again.

Those are the combinations worth remembering. Everything else is theory.

~

Pasta drawings by our dear friend, Amber Vittoria.

Spring pastas feel lighter on the table and brighter on the palate. Herbs replace fat. Walnut and pesto replace broth and guanciale. The flavors become greener, softer, and more aromatic. If winter pasta asks for weight and warmth, spring pasta asks for a mortar, a handful of herbs, and restraint.

Liguria dominates much of this season, with thin doughs, delicate shapes, and sauces built from olive oil, nuts, greens, and cheese. The coastline matters in Liguria. So does the garden.

And then there is Cjarsons, arriving from the mountains of Friuli like a strange and beautiful detour.

Let’s get into it.

Trofie

Trofie are among Italy’s great examples of pasta and sauce becoming inseparable. Hand-rolled and twisted by palm and pressure, they were built for pesto long before pesto became the global shorthand for green sauce.

History: Trofie originate in Liguria, where their shape evolved alongside pesto Genovese. The name likely comes from strufuggia (“to rub”), describing the rolling motion used to form them.

Shape: Small, twisted, hand-rolled pasta. Short, irregular, and tapered at the ends.
Texture: Dense, chewy, slightly elastic. Built to grip sauce in every crease.
Filling: None.
Sauce: Pesto Genovese: basil, pine nuts, garlic, Parmigiano, Pecorino, olive oil.
One Bite: Twisted pasta coated in basil and olive oil, with the garlic and cheese arriving slowly behind it.
White Wine: Saline, herbal whites with freshness and subtle texture.
Red Wine: Rarely necessary, but very light reds served cool can work. Maybe.
Final Thought: Trofie and pesto are less a pairing than an institution.

Recipe & Video: The Italian Dinner Party, Pasta! See how it is made here.

Pansotti

Pansotti are Liguria’s softer, stranger cousin to ravioli, filled with wild herbs, greens, and cheese, then dressed in walnut sauce that somehow feels rustic and luxurious at the same time.

History: Pansotti and Liguria are inextricably tied, where foraged greens and herbs shape much of the region’s spring cooking. Their name comes from pansa (“belly”), a reference to their swollen shape.

Shape: Large triangular or half-moon stuffed pasta. Loose and slightly irregular.
Texture: Tender pasta with soft, herbaceous filling. Walnut sauce adds weight without heaviness.
Filling: Wild greens, herbs, ricotta, and cheese. Traditionally, whatever spring offers first.
Sauce: Walnut sauce, earthy, creamy, slightly bitter.
One Bite: Herbs first, then walnut, then cheese. Green and earthy at the same time.
White Wine: Textural whites with subtle bitterness and savory lift.
Red Wine: Very light reds, if at all. The sauce prefers restraint.
Final Thought: Pansotti should taste like spring trying to wake up after winter.

Mandilli de Saea

Mandilli de Saea may be the most delicate pasta in Italy. Their name translates to “silk handkerchiefs,” and when made correctly, they almost disappear beneath the sauce.

History: Found in Liguria and parts of north-central Italy, mandilli reflect a tradition of exceptionally thin hand-rolled pasta sheets paired with pesto.

Shape: Large, thin sheets of pasta folded loosely like fabric.
Texture: Silky, delicate. More drape than bite.
Filling: None.
Sauce: Pesto Genovese, lightly applied. Anything heavier overwhelms them.
One Bite: Thin pasta collapsing into basil, olive oil, and cheese with almost no resistance.
White Wine: Elegant whites with floral lift and gentle acidity.
Red Wine: Difficult. Not impossible. Keep it chilled and restrained, no tannin.
Final Thought: Mandilli are proof that delicacy can still feel balanced and complete.

Cjarsons

Cjarsons are one of Italy’s most unusual pastas: sweet, savory, herbal, and impossible to place neatly into a category. They feel less like canonical Italian pasta and more like the memory of several borders meeting at once.

History: Cjarsons come from the Carnia region of north-west Friuli-Venezia Giulia, where trade routes and migration brought together Slavic, Austrian, and Venetian influences. Traditionally eaten in warmer months, their ingredients often reflected what travelers and spice merchants carried home.

Shape: Filled half-moon or dumpling-like pasta, rustic and hand-formed.
Texture: Soft and delicate, often richer in filling than dough.
Filling: Herbs, ricotta, raisins, spices, sometimes chocolate or cinnamon. Sweet and savory together. Oh, wow.
Sauce: Butter, smoked ricotta, herbs.
One Bite: Butter and herbs first, then sweetness arrives unexpectedly behind the cheese and spice.
White Wine: Aromatic whites with texture and Alpine freshness.
Red Wine: Light reds with low tannin and subtle earthiness.
Final Thought: Cjarsons remind you that Italy was never one flavor or one language.

~

In Liguria and Friuli, spring arrives through herbs, walnuts, peppery young olive oil, and delicate doughs, proof that Italian pasta is as much about season as it is shape.

~

Pasta drawings by our friend, Amber Vittoria.

“What grows together, goes together.” The culinary adage repeated by chefs, wine drinkers, and everyday epicureans isn’t just a modern restaurant concept. In Lazio, it starts with working-class cooking, born of shepherds and farmers who rely on a pantry of necessity: dried pasta, aged cheese, cured pork, and black pepper carried along ancient trade routes.

What we found in the wine-and-pasta pairings went beyond geography. These pairings revealed how texture, salt, fat, and time shape not only the dish, but the way wine moves alongside it.

Let’s dig in.

Cacio e Pepe

The most elemental of the four dishes. Pasta, Pecorino Romano, black pepper. Nothing extra, nothing to hide. It is a study in balance, fat and salt lifted by spice. The pasta matters here: tonnarelli, with its square edges, grips the emulsion, holding the sauce in place.

We began with the simple question: red or white wine? We went traditional and only paired white wines.

Colli di Catone: Frascati (Trebbiano, Malvasia)

Colli di Catone is rooted in the volcanic hills of Frascati, just outside Rome, where winemaking dates back to ancient Roman times. The estate has long championed traditional white blends from the Castelli Romani region, helping preserve Frascati’s identity as a fresh, everyday wine of the Roman table.

Trebbiano brings lift, acidity, and a clean citrus backbone, while Malvasia adds softness, aromatics, and a subtle floral roundness. Together, they form the classic Frascati profile, light, refreshing, and quietly expressive of Lazio’s volcanic soils.

A seamless pairing. The wine refreshed the palate while allowing the pecorino and pepper to remain the focus.

Casale del Giglio: Bellone

Casale del Giglio is a modern pioneer in Lazio, founded in the 1960s with a spirit of experimentation in the Agro Pontino, south of Rome. While the estate explores international varieties, they’ve played a key role in reviving native grapes like Bellone, giving them renewed relevance on the global stage.

Bellone is an ancient Roman variety once prized in Imperial times. It produces wines with a waxy texture, golden fruit, and a savory, almost saline edge, structured enough to stand up to Pecorino and pepper, yet distinctly Mediterranean in character.

Richer, more textured. Floral on the nose, with enough weight and salinity to cut through the pepper and carry the dish. Here, the wine started to speak as much as the dish.

Marco Carpineti: Bellone

Marco Carpineti is a champion of organic farming in the Lepini Mountains, working with native varieties on the hillside vineyards that reflect Lazio’s rural interior. The family wines are deeply tied to place, emphasizing biodiversity, tradition, and low-intervention practices.

Slightly reductive at first, but resolved with time in the glass. A well-made wine that ultimately worked, but not as seamlessly as the Frascati.

Gricia

Often called the ancestor of Amatriciana, Gricia builds on Cacio e Pepe with the addition of guanciale. Guanciale, salt-cured pork cheek, introduces richness, depth, and a savory intensity that lingers. The dish remains focused on fat, salt, and spice, amplified.

The question here was simple: what wine can handle the lingering heat of black pepper and the richness of guanciale?

We leaned into white wine here as well.

Antinori: Orvieto (Grechetto, Trebbiano, Viognier, Pinot Bianco)

Antinori, one of Italy’s most historic wine families (I think we have all stopped counting how many generations), has extended its vision into central Italy with wines like Orvieto that balance tradition and accessibility. Their work with Orvieto reflects this modern refinement of a historic central-Italian white wine, bringing clarity and precision to a once-rustic appellation.

Grechetto, an Italian white wine grape with Greek origins, forms the backbone with structure and a subtle almond-like depth, while Trebbiano adds freshness and lift. Viognier and Pinot Bianco contribute aromatic nuance and texture. The result is a layered white wine capable of cutting through guanciale’s richness and mirroring its savory weight.

Easy. Worked right away. Fruit-forward, with enough weight to cut through both the pepper and the fat of the guanciale.

Tenuta di Fiorano: Fioranello Bianco (Grechetto, Viognier)

Tenuta di Fiorano is one of Lazio’s most iconic estates, shaped by Prince Alberico Boncompagni Ludovisi, whose wines achieved near-mythical status for their longevity and individuality. Today, the Fioranello label continues that legacy with a focus on organic farming and a deep respect for the land just outside Rome.

Grechetto again provides structure and a grounded, earthy core, while Viognier layers in aromatic richness and a gentle, rounded texture. Together, they create a wine that feels both rustic and refined, well-suited to the simplicity and depth of Gricia.

Initially marked by a musty, cellar note, but air revealed texture and depth that paired well with the dish.

Monastero Suore Cistercensi: Coenobium Bianco (Trebbiano, Verdicchio, Malvasia)

Produced by the Cistercian nuns of Vitorchiano, Coenobium is one of Italy’s most quietly revered wines. Their monastic discipline extends into the vineyard and cellar, guided by patience and a deep connection to the land. With the help of Giampiero Bea, the wines reflect a philosophy of restraint, purity, and time, standing apart from modern winemaking trends.

Trebbiano provides linear acidity, Verdicchio contributes structure and phenolic grip, and Malvasia brings aromatic lift. Together, they form a wine that is both contemplative and textural, layered, savory, and built for the table.

Very dry white wine. Built for food. Lees-driven texture that aligned beautifully with the weight and salt of the dish.

Monastero Suore Cistercensi: Coenobium Ruscum Bianco (Trebbiano, Verdicchio, Malvasia, Grechetto)

A deeper, more structured expression of Coenobium. This bottling often draws from older vines and is given extended aging.

The addition of Grechetto brings weight, structure, and a slightly nutty, earthy tone to the blend.

An orange wine that captivated the table. Everyone liked the wine. Not everyone liked it with the dish.

Red Wine (Cesanese)

Before we finished the dish, we splashed Cesanese around the table, as the spice of the black pepper lingered in our mouths, we noticed immediately that the right red wine can soften the spice of the dish almost immediately. But whether it was the best pairing remained open.

Amatriciana

Here, tomato enters the conversation. The brightness of the sauce reframes everything, cutting through fat, sharpening flavors, and adding acidity and sweetness. Bucatini, with its hollow center, channels the sauce, making each bite more dynamic, more complete.

Damiano Ciolli: Silene (Cesanese)

Damiano Ciolli is one of the leading voices in the revival of Cesanese, working in the hills of Olevano Romano just east of Rome. With a focus on old vines, organic farming, and minimal intervention, Ciolli has helped elevate what was once a rustic local grape into one of Lazio’s most compelling red wines.

Cesanese shows bright red cherry, spice, and often carries a savory, almost feral edge. In Silene, it shows both freshness and structure, making it a natural partner for Amatriciana, where tomato, guanciale, and red pepper demand a wine that can match both acidity and intensity.

Clean, dry, and red-fruited. Fresh, structured, and in line with the dish. One of the strongest pairings. Also worked with the Gricia, as noted above, resetting the palate and handling the pepper.

Tenimenti Leone: Terra de Leone (Cesanese)

Tenimenti Leone represents a modern voice in Lazio, blending modern winemaking with a focus on native varieties and the volcanic soils west of Rome. Their wines aim to present Cesanese in a polished, approachable style without losing its regional identity.

Cesanese here shows a softer, more rounded profile, ripe red berries, gentle spice, and supple tannins. With this approachability style, you would think that the wine would complement Amatriciana without overpowering the dish, aligning more with its warmth than its edge. It didn’t. The modern style, with noticeable oak, made the pairing feel less aligned with the rustic character of the dish.

Too polished. Too much oak. Didn’t work.

Cincinnato: Argeo (Cesanese)

Cincinnato, a cooperative founded in the 1940s, has been instrumental in preserving Lazio’s viticultural heritage, particularly in the Cori area. Their work champions local growers and traditional varieties, giving Cesanese a strong cultural and agricultural foundation.

Argeo leans away from Cesanese’s rustic charm, bright cherry fruit, and earthy undertones; its oak influence and a hint of sweetness disrupted the balance of the pairing.

Same issue. Oak got in the way. Didn’t work.

Marco Carpineti: Capolemole Rosso (Cesanese)

In Capolemole Rosso, Cesanese is vibrant and lifted, with fresh red fruit, floral notes, and fine, integrated tannins. There’s a clarity and energy here that brings a lighter, more elegant counterpoint to the rusticity of the Amatriciana.

Not perfect, but it worked. Fresh, red-fruited, with a drying finish. The structure ultimately worked with the acidity of the tomato.

Carbonara

Terre Porziane: Colle Gaio (Malvasia)

Carbonara is the most deceptive of the four pasta sauces: no tomato, no overt acidity, just fat, salt, egg, and pecorino. It is richness without relief, texture without contrast. Rigatoni becomes the ideal vessel, capturing and carrying the weight of the sauce.

Rather than reaching for something safe, we went the opposite direction: aged Malvasia.

Terre Porziane operates quietly on the borderlands of Lazio and Umbria, farming organically and practicing low-intervention winemaking that favors patience over polish. Their wines, especially Colle Gaio, are built not for immediacy, but for evolution, capturing and expressing time more so than place.

Malvasia, often thought of as soft with heady aromatics in its youth, becomes something entirely different with age. It deepens into honeyed, nutty, oxidative layers of dried citrus, chamomile, almond, and saline depth. Across vintages (2007, 1998, and 1994), the wines moved from freshness to tertiary complexity, gaining weight and texture while maintaining a thread of acidity.

Why we thought it might work:

Carbonara is about emulsion and fat, not acid. These wines meet it on that level:

• The texture of aged Malvasia mirrors the silkiness of egg and cheese

• The oxidative, nutty notes echo guanciale and pecorino

• The salinity and subtle bitterness reset the palate without cutting it apart

Overall, the wines were admired, especially for their freshness and vitality across vintages, but their pairing with Carbonara challenged expectations. Part of the tension may lie in the wines themselves: their history, their reputation, and the difficulty of separating perception from experience.

And the real magic: by pouring multiple vintages, we turned this plate of Carbonara into a study of time. The dish stays the same, but the wines evolve, showing how age transforms not just flavor but also how a wine sits with food.

~

What began as an exploration of four Roman pastas became something less certain and more interesting. Some wines cut cleanly through the dish, others mirrored its weight, and some simply didn’t belong.

The idea that what grows together goes together held true until it didn’t. And that tension is where the conversation lives. Pairing isn’t about perfection; it’s about perspective: how a wine can sharpen, soften, or shift a dish in ways both expected and surprising.

The simplest wines often worked best. Frascati with Cacio e Pepe. Clean, bright, direct.

With Gricia, texture mattered more than color. White wines carried the dish. A light red could change it, but not always for the better.

Amatriciana showed the range of Cesanese. Some wines felt right, fresh, structured, grounded. Others, with too much oak or polish, missed the point.

Carbonara was the outlier. The aged Malvasia was compelling, layered, and alive, but whether it worked with the dish depended on who you asked.

There wasn’t one answer. But there was a pattern. When the wine stayed honest, fresh, and structured, it worked. When it tried to do more, it didn’t.

In the end, nothing was resolved completely. And that was the point. The dishes remained themselves, the wines revealed their intentions, and the table moved forward, course by course, question by question.

~

Pasta drawings by our dear friend, Amber Vittoria.

The goal of this compendium is about the pasta itself: the shape, the filling, the form. In Rome, the hierarchy flips. The sauces lead, and the pasta follows. Shape still matters, but it is chosen in service of how the sauce moves, clings, and carries. And in these four pastas, they are not a collection of dishes; they are a sequence of sources. Four pastas, built from the same foundation. Subtract or add a single element of the sauce, and everything changes.

Start with Cacio e Pepe: Pecorino Romano, black pepper, and pasta water. Nothing more. Technique over ingredients. Add guanciale, and you have Gricia. Fat enters the equation, and with it, depth. From there, the road splits. Add tomato and red pepper flakes to the guanciale, and you arrive at Amatriciana, acid and heat balancing richness. Add egg instead, and you have Carbonara, silky, structural, and indulgent.

Let’s dig into it.

Cacio e Pepe (Tonnarelli)

Cacio e Pepe is Roman minimalism at its peak; three ingredients, but no margin for error. It is not simple; it is exact. Cheese, pepper, pasta, and technique. That’s it. Get one thing wrong, and it is a hot mess.

The Pasta: Tonnarelli is Rome’s square-cut answer to spaghetti, thicker, rougher, and built to hold onto sauce. The pasta’s lineage is closely tied to spaghetti alla chitarra from Abruzzo. In dishes like Cacio e Pepe, tonnarelli’s edges grip and emulsify the sauce in a way that round pasta cannot.

Dish History: Cacio e Pepe is linked back to pastoral traditions in the Roman countryside, where shepherds carried dried pasta and aged pecorino; black pepper came later, but the logic remained: work with ingredients that travel well.

Shape: Long pasta, typically tonnarelli or spaghetti itself.

Sauce: Pecorino Romano, black pepper, and pasta water. No butter. No cream.

Texture: Slippery, emulsified, tightly bound. No pooling, no clumps in this dish.

One Bite: Pasta al dente, glossy and peppered. Earthy spice, salt, and fat arrive at once.

White Wine: Mineral, sharp, and saline, something that cuts through fat and salt.

Red Wine: Light-bodied with high acidity and low tannin; nothing that competes with salt and pepper. Think refreshment, not structure.

Final Thought: The simplest Roman pasta is the hardest to make well.

Gricia (Tonarelli and Spaghetti)

Considered the O.G. in the series, Gricia is the bridge between Cacio e Pepe, Amatriciana, and Carbonara. No tomato, no egg. Just guanciale, cheese, and pepper. This is the dish that makes the other three make sense.

The Pasta: Here, we would typically use tonnarelli, but for the sake of the exercise, and the reality of a box of spaghetti in most kitchen pantries, let’s talk spaghetti. In everyday language, many long pastas are simply called “spaghetti,” but the distinction matters: spaghetti, tonnarelli, and bucatini each carry sauce differently. Spaghetti coats, tonnarelli grips and emulsifies, bucatini channels and carries it through.

Derived from spago, meaning “string” or “twine,” spaghetti is the most widely recognized and most versatile of the long pastas, especially on Italian-American tables.

Dish History: Gricia is often considered the ancestor of both Amatriciana and Carbonara, sometimes called “the white Amatriciana.” Its origin is debated, either geographic or tied to the gricio, a traditional Roman grocer.

Shape: Long pasta, typically tonnarelli or spaghetti itself.

Sauce: Guanciale, Pecorino Romano, and black pepper.

Texture: Glossy, lightly coated, with bite-sized snacks of rendered fat.

One Bite: Salt, fat, and pepper in balance, depth without weight.

White Wine: Crisp, structured whites that clean the palate.

Red Wine: Fresh, lifted reds that can handle fat without adding weight, acid over tannin, always.

Final Thought: If you understand Gricia, you understand why guanciale matters and Pecorino is sharp.

Amatriciana (Bucatini)

Amatriciana brings tomato into the Roman pasta canon, but just enough. It’s not about sauce, it’s about balance: fat, acid, salt, and heat working in unison.

Pasta Shape: Bucatini looks like spaghetti but is defined by its hollow center (buco meaning “hole”). That hollow core pulls sauce through the string, delivering flavor from the in and out. It is the natural partner for Amatriciana, where tomato and fat can move through the pasta and around it.

Dish History: Amatriciana originates from Amatrice, a mountain town in Lazio (once part of Abruzzo), but it is Rome that made it famous.

Shape: Bucatini.

Sauce: Tomato, guanciale, Pecorino Romano, and peperoncino. No onion in the Roman version.

Texture: Firm pasta, lightly coated, slightly oily sauce.

One Bite: Tangy tomato, rendered fat, and a hit of spice carried by chewy pasta.

White Wine: Fresh, acid-driven whites that echo the tomato without competing.

Red Wine: Medium-bodied reds with bright acidity to match the tomato and enough structure to carry the guanciale.

Final Thought: Amatriciana is about restraint, too much tomato and you lose the balance.

Carbonara (Rigatoni)

Carbonara is richness with rules. Eggs, guanciale, cheese, and pepper. No substitutions, no shortcuts. It is indulgent, but structured, held together by technique - practice makes delicious.

Pasta Shape: Rigatoni are short, ridged tubes, rigato meaning “lined” or “ridged.” Their structure is designed to capture fat and sauce, both inside and out, making them ideal for richer Roman dishes like Carbonara (and even Gricia). Each piece becomes a vessel.

Dish History: Like Gricia, Carbonara’s origin is debated. Some place it in post-World War II Rome, influenced by American soldiers (eggs and bacon), while others connect it to charcoal workers (carbonari) in the Apennines, just east of Rome. Either way, it is the most modern of the four. And as chef Missy Robbins puts it, carbonara “doesn’t have fans, it has disciples.”

Shape: Rigatoni.

Sauce: Egg yolk, guanciale, Pecorino Romano, and black pepper. No cream. No garlic.

Texture: Creamy without cream. Silky, dense, coating every tube of pasta.

One Bite: Pasta coated in warm egg and fat, punctuated by crisp guanciale.

White Wine: Fuller whites with structure and lift to balance richness.

Red Wine: Light to medium-bodied reds with restraint, too much tannin or alcohol will overwhelm the egg and fat.

Final Thought: Like our beloved Cacio e Pepe, Carbonara doesn’t forgive mistakes; it exposes them (insert scrambled egg joke here).

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In our first chapter, the filled pastas form defined the dish: the folds, the fillings, the structure. In Rome, that hierarchy reverses: the sauce leads, and the pasta is chosen in service of how it moves, clings, and carries the sauce.

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Pasta drawings by our dear friend, Amber Vittoria.

Sarah is a private chef whose career includes kitchens in Napa Valley at Bouchon and Meadowood, while Jason, a Master Sommelier and member of my tasting group since 2015, helped pour the wines as the dishes arrived at the table.

What Did We Eat, What Did We Drink

Winter-filled pastas, three regions. Regional wines, 12 bottles.

Ravioli with Herbed Ricotta in a Walnut Pesto Sauce (Liguria)

Ravioli appear in Ligurian records as early as the 13th century, making them one of the oldest documented filled pastas. Walnut sauce (salsa di noci) is one of Liguria’s classic condiments and historically predates basil pesto in many households.

• Punta Crena 2024 Vermentino. Punta Crena farms steep seaside vineyards above the Ligurian coast, producing some of the most classic expressions of grapes in the region. Vermentino is one of the Mediterranean’s great coastal grapes, thriving in windy seaside vineyards.

• Punta Crena 2024 Pigato. Pigato is genetically related to Vermentino, but the wines tend to be richer and more textural than most Vermentino.

• Laura Aschero 2023 Rossese. Laura Aschero is one of the leading voices in modern Ligurian wine, crafting delicate, aromatic whites and reds from vineyards just miles from the sea and the French border. Rossesse is Liguria’s only widely planted red wine grape.

Tortellini in Pork Brodo (Emilia-Romagna)

A proper tortellino should be about the size of a fingertip, often made by hand, the morning it is eaten. Fun fact: the official tortellini filling was registered with the Bologna Chamber of Commerce in 1974. It includes pork loin, prosciutto, mortadella, Parmigiano Reggiano, egg, and nutmeg.

• Fattoria Moretto Lambrusco 2024 and 2021 vintages. Fattoria Moretto focuses on producing structured, savory Lambruschi that show the grape’s serious side. Lambrusco wines are historically considered the perfect wine for pork and Parmigiano. And today, they have earned the reputation of being one of Italy’s great pizza wines.

• Paltrinieri 2022 Lambrusco. Paltrinieri is widely regarded as one of the masters of elegant, pale, and vibrant Lambrusco wines.

• La Stoppa 2023 Rosso. La Stoppa, founded in the late 19th century, is known for traditional farming and soulful, natural wines rooted deep in the region’s agricultural history. They are a pioneer in the region and work with rustic, food-friendly grapes such as Barbera and Bonarda.

Agnolotti del Plin (Piedmont)

Despite their petite size, agnolotti often carry very concentrated flavors from their meat fillings, making them one of the most structurally rich pastas.

• Giovanni Almondo 2024 Arneis. Giovanni Almondo is one of the benchmark producers of Arneis, championing the grape long before its modern revival. Arneis is historically translated as “rascal,” a reference to the grape’s reputation for being a difficult grape to grow.

• Vietti 2023 Timorasso. Vietti is an iconic Italian estate in the Langhe producing everything from Moscato to Barolo. Timorasso, once nearly extinct, was revived by Walter Massa in the late 1980s, and today it is enjoying a modern renaissance.

• Bruno Broglia 2019 Gavi Cortese. Bruno Broglia is one of the historic families of Gavi and remains one of the appellation’s reference point wineries.

• Oddero 2021 Monvigliero Barolo. Oddero is one of Barolo’s great traditional families. Twenty-twenty-one marked the second bottling of their Monvigliero designate, one of Barolo’s most celebrated “cru” vineyards. It joins an already remarkable portfolio of Baroli wines, including Brunate, Bussia, Vigna Rionda, Villero, and more.

• Fratelli Alessandria 2021 Monvigliero Barolo. Fratelli Alessandria, based in Verduno, is renowned for some of the most expressive Nebbioli in all the Communes. Their wines reflect pure elegance in Barolo.

What Were We Trying to Figure Out

Throughout the evening, I posed a few questions that will likely become staples at future tables on this pasta journey.

• The Salinity Test. Do you taste a “salty” character in the (white) wines? Do they act as a condiment? Do they help “season” the dish?

• Weight and Color. Is it the weight or texture of the wine work with the dish? Does the color of the wine matter?

• When you introduce a fourth variable, like bubbles, does it enhance the pairing or interfere with it?

• Beyond texture, how do wine and food flavor profiles interact? When do fruit-forward wines work, and when do savory wines shine?

In the end, do we prefer a pairing that mirrors the flavors (rich with rich) or contrasts them (acid cutting through fat)?

One Night Isn’t Enough

With all this in mind, three filled pastas and 12 bottles of regional Italian wines led us to a humbling conclusion: the idea of a “perfect” grape for a specific dish is a beautiful but ultimately misleading generalization.

One could easily spend an entire year orbiting a single pasta, only to discover that the “ideal” pairing shifts with every new producer and every stylistic choice in the cellar. While textbooks can give us a roadmap, it is the hands of Mother Nature, the decisions of the winemaker, and the nuances of our own palates that have the most impact.

So, where did we end up? In some ways, right back to the beginning, paying closer attention, listening to our own palates, and trusting what we taste at the table.

What follows is a summary of thoughts from our first dinner. Let’s dig into it.

Plate One: Ravioli with Herbed Ricotta in a Walnut Pesto Sauce (Liguria)

Our first revelation of the night was that texture, not color, is the true North Star of pairing. We served three distinct Ligurian wines, and the results were revealing.

• Vermentino was the unanimous favorite. Its bright, fresh profile acted as a liquid “condiment,” mirroring the lift in the herbed ricotta while cutting through the creamy cheese.

• Interestingly, the Pigato fell flat. It displayed a late-ripening sweetness that felt out of sync with the savory walnut pesto.

• The Rossese, however, held its own beautifully. Rather than clashing with the white pasta, its spicy, fruity character evolved alongside the dish, bringing out a delightful peppery note. The interaction between the herbs and this red wine was particularly fascinating. Tarragon carries a slightly bittersweet anise edge, and when it met the wild-herb and cracked-pepper profile of a Rossese, they found a “green-meets-spice” harmony that most reds struggle to achieve.

Ultimately, we learned that a light-bodied, high-acid red wine has more in common with a crisp white wine than a richer, thicker white wine. When the texture is right, the color of the wine becomes secondary to the energy of the pairing.

Plate Two: Tortellini in Pork Brodo (Emilia-Romagna)

This round proved that “what grows together” doesn’t always “go together” - if the textures are competing.

• Lambrusco: Despite being a classic regional sparkling wine, the rustic bubbles actually hindered the pairing experience. Rather than refreshing the palate, the effervescence felt intrusive, “stopping the flavor” of the crystalline broth and preventing the delicate pork and mortadella notes in the tortellini’s filling from lingering.

• La Stoppa Rosso (Barbera and Bonarda blend) was the star. While its natural wine character felt slightly challenging on its own, the wine found its place when met with the savory depth of the tortellini. The broth’s salt and fat softened the wine’s edges, leaving behind some fruit and structure, which was unanimously appreciated.

• Chablis: One can argue that tortellini in brodo’s natural wine pairing is white wine; we did not have a regional white wine to pair this evening. And a few voices at the table did suggest a white wine pairing, specifically Chablis. My attention was piqued, and I will follow up here with a tortellini-and-steely-white-wine pairing result. It will be hard to convince me not to do it. More to come.

Our experience with La Stoppa is a classic example of why so-called natural wines often shine brightest at the dinner table. Their volatile acid and umami-driven edges can soften dramatically when paired with dishes rich in Parmigiano (pure umami) and mortadella (fat). In those moments, food and wine can cancel out each other’s extremes, leaving behind a balance of fruit and structure.

Plate Three: Agnolotti del Plin (Piedmont)

The evening culminated in a “savory on savory” showdown. We expected the textured white wines to perform well. Instead, the dish proved to be a bit of a beast, stripping away the nuances of nearly every white wine we poured.

• The Arneis felt uninspired and “green,” lacking the structural backbone to support the weight of the roasted-meat filling.

• Even the Timorasso, despite its legendary waxy weight, delivered only a lateral move; it balanced the texture of the pasta but failed to spark any “incremental pleasure” or new flavor dimensions.

• The aged Cortese showed charming nuttiness but struggled to find its footing against the density of the beef stock.

• Then came Nebbiolo. The Fratelli Alessandria brought high-toned red fruit and winter spices that danced through the savory depth of the plin, while the Oddero provided a grounding force of dark tar and dried roses.

The Takeaway: Agnolotti del Plin is a ceremonial pairing; when considering the cultural context, find the Barolo that fits your budget and celebrate. [Note: the two Nebbiolo wines were respectively 3-5x more expensive than the other wines on the table.]

The Conclusion at the Table

Ultimately, our evening proved that while regional tradition may provide the map, only the act of sitting at the table provides the direction.

We began with the assumption that “what grows together goes together,” only to discover that a classic Lambrusco can be silenced by a precise broth, and a traditional white wine can be rendered invisible by the architecture of a single plin.

It is a humbling reminder that wine pairing is not a math problem to be solved, but a living dialogue between Mother Nature, the producer’s style, the chef’s hand, and the taster’s palate.

We walked away realizing that you truly could spend a year, perhaps a lifetime as our Italian brothers and sisters have, studying a single pasta, only to find that the “perfect” bottle is a moving target. The joy, then, isn’t in finding a universal rule, but in the slow, delicious process of discernment.

One that requires attention and time at the table.

Pasta illustrations from our dear friend and artist, Amber Vittoria.

What follows looks at how these pastas actually behave when eaten: their texture, their balance, and the wines that pair well with them. If there is something missing, please let me know.

Let’s dig into it.

Agnolotti

Agnolotti, in essence, is cucina povera; it’s a pragmatic pasta that showed up at the table when there was meat left over from a holiday celebration. Its name is credited to a cook, therefore less mystical and more attribution. As a meat-filled pasta, its season lingers from the holidays into the new year.

Place: Piedmont, especially the Langhe and Monferrato.

Shape: Small, pillow-shaped filled pasta, neatly sealed and often pinched by hand. More linear than round. Pointed edges.

Texture: Soft pasta with defined closure. The seams matter; the structure is toothsome and holds the sauce.

Filling: The meat filling should taste cooked, not creamy. The joy of turning leftovers into something better than the original dish.

Sauce: Brown butter, pan juices, or light meat sauces. Tomato is never. Neither cream.

One Bite: One agnolotto, sauced but not buried. The filling should taste composed, not dominant.

White Wine: Fuller-bodied whites with texture and savory notes.

Red Wine: Piedmont makes this easy with their red wines’ lift, acidity, and restraint.

Final Thought: Agnolotti (in America) are less common and often confused with ravioli, and most Italian-Americans I know are from south of Piemonte, where ravioli are widely known and loved. Only serve Agnolotti if you are comfortable getting a little feedback, if you know what I mean.

Cappelletti

Cappelletti are regional and domestic, Sunday food, holiday food, food made at home. Less mythologized than tortellini (see below), but deeply personal. Every family has a version, and in true Italian fashion, they all insist theirs is correct.

The name comes from cappello, meaning “little hat.” Practical and literal.

Like its sibling, tortellini, cappelletti is a winter pasta - Christmas through the deep cold.

In America, cappelletti are far less common than tortellini. When they do appear, they’re often mistaken for them or quietly preferred.

Place: Emilia-Romagna (and parts of Marche), especially inland and Adriatic-facing areas.

Shape: Small, filled pasta folded into a soft cap shape, less tightly wound than tortellini, more forgiving in form. Cappelletti feel handmade.

Texture: Softer and more yielding than tortellini. Thinner pasta, looser fold. Less snap, more melt.

Filling: Cappelletti vary widely by village, cheese-forward, meat-light, sometimes poultry-based. There is no “official” stuffing.

Sauce: Broth first and foremost. Butter works, as does a light red sauce.

One Bite: One cappelletto, fully submerged in broth or sauce. It collapses slightly as you bite, filling and pasta becoming one.

White Wine: Subtle, saline, quietly structured whites that echo broth rather than compete with it.

Red Wine: Very light reds with freshness over tannin, served cool, almost casually.

Final Thought: If tortellini are about precision and legend, cappelletti are about comfort and place.

Ravioli

Ravioli appear in written Italian records earlier than most other filled pastas. The name can be tied to the Italian word riavvolgere (to wrap), depending on whom you ask. And while some claim ravioli is “all seasons,” their weight, their fillings, and their sauces are rarely light. What makes them so wonderful is the democracy of their fill - they absorb local ingredients, seasons, and moods. Less ceremonial and endlessly flexible.

Place: Everywhere. From Liguria to Sicily, ravioli belong to no single region.

Shape: Flat, square, or round filled pasta, defined by enclosure rather than fold. The most adaptable of the filled pastas.

Texture: Two sheets of pasta meeting in the middle. Balance matters. Too thick and it’s heavy; too thin and it’s a hot mess.

Filling: With ravioli, that means you can almost put anything inside, but that doesn’t mean you should.

Sauce: Nearly anything, but restraint improves them all. Ravioli are easily overwhelmed.

One Bite: Cut your ravioli, don’t stab it. Pasta and filling should arrive in the mouth together, not in stages.

White Wine: Depends on the filling, compare and contrast the acid and texture with the filling.

Red Wine: Light to medium-bodied; let the filling lead.

Final Thought: Ubiquitous. Often oversized, overfilled, and over-sauced, but also deeply nostalgic.

Tortellini

One of Italy’s most iconic pastas is deeply tied to home cooking, holidays, and ritual. Made in quantity and often communally, they are not everyday food; they are an important food. The name comes from tortello, meaning “little twisted thing.” Legend says the shape was inspired by Venus’s navel, equal parts mythology and Italian pride.

Tortellini are a typical Winter delicacy. Cold days, long tables, clear broth. Yes, tortellini is traditionally served in brodo, not with sauce; anything else would be considered a modern interpretation. In Italian-American life, tortellini are extremely common, but transformed: often larger, cheese-filled, and sauced rather than brothed. Familiar, but culturally displaced.

Place: Emilia-Romagna, with Bologna and Modena forever debating ownership.

Shape: Small, ring-shaped filled pasta, traditionally meat-stuffed and folded with precision. Delicate in size, exacting in form.

Texture: Tender pasta with a compact, savory center. The pleasure comes from a subtle bite followed by release. Overcooking ruins everything.

Filling: Traditionally, meat - pork and prosciutto bound with a little Parmigiano Reggiano. If it is filled with ricotta, it isn’t tortellini, it is something else.

Sauce: Broth is the classic, clear, meat-based, and deeply flavored. Butter or cream versions exist, but they shift the pasta away from its original purpose.

One Bite: A spoonful of broth with two tortellini. Slurp first, chew second. Warmth before richness.

White Wine: Clean, mineral-driven whites with lift, nothing too aromatic or oaky.
Red Wine: Light-bodied, high-acid reds served cool. Think refreshment, not structure.

Final Thought: Tortellini are petite and packaged this way for a reason: they reward precision and tradition more than appetite. Broth is the classic, clear, meat-based, and deeply flavored. Butter or cream versions exist, but they shift the pasta away from its original purpose.

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Notes on these notes.

First and foremost. Love our pasta illustrations from our dear friend and artist, Amber Vittoria.

Words and recipes on paper. I have found so much inspiration for this project in the books and cookbooks that I read while compiling this compendium. I am thrilled to highlight some of those books here. If you love pasta, consider some of these books.

• Pasta by Missy Robbins and Talia Baioicchi, just stop here if you are looking for the best book.

• The Geometry of Pasta, the book that I have gifted more than any other.

• American Sfogliono. He’s good, he’s really, really good. And brava to author Katie Parla for capturing his essence.

• Marc Vetri. The Pasta Book. Can’t say how much energy this book brings to the conversation.

• There are dozens more books I will reference here, including those by Ada Boni, Marcella Hazan, and many others. Stay tuned.

Links. If you want to find some of these books, the cookbook section at NYC’s the Strand (in the Village) is a treat, and Kitchen Arts and Letters (on the Upper East Side) is a retreat. Two must-visit places while in NYC.

If you are in Nor Cal, check out City Lights, or in Portland, Powell’s.

Put your favorite culinary book stores or cookbook sections or books on Pasta in the comments below. Grazie.

I compiled a list of nearly 70 pastas and then began the work to categorize them, not just as dishes, but as a way of understanding Italian culture, regional identity, seasonality, celebrations, food, and wine.

As seasons change, shapes on the plate change. Sauces change. The weight of the food shifts with the weather. And so does the wine.

Later this month, together with my tasting group here in Napa, we’re starting a year-long exploration of pasta through the lens of seasonality. Each month, we’ll cook three to four pastas that reflect how that moment in the year feels - not every possible dish, but enough to walk away with a few favorites in our repertoire. With each pasta, we’ll pair a white and a red wine from the same region, thinking less about rules and more about texture, mood, and balance.

• Winter pastas will lean into comfort, structure, and richness: egg-rich doughs, filled shapes, broths, and butter

• Spring pastas crave tension and lift, herbs, and freshness: green sauces, and wines that feel like sea air

• Summer will be about tomatoes, olive oil, seafood, and heat

• Fall will be earthy, savory, heartier, and meatier

Rome, of course, gets its own chapter. The sauces are too iconic, too eternal, to squeeze into a single month of weather.

We’ll begin with Winter, then move into Rome in March, then roll through Spring and Summer, transition to the Fall in September, and close the year with Winter pastas and the holidays.

What to expect.

Along the way, I’ll be sharing what I’m learning here, pasta by pasta, using a short, opinionated format about how these pastas actually behave on the plate: the time, the place, the texture, the sauce and wine affinity, and more. After each group dinner, I’ll come back and layer in the wine pairings once they’ve been tested at the table.

Some statistic somewhere counts over 400 pasta shapes in Italy. The Walmart website has 19 pasta shapes available to us and over 90 variations. I compiled 70 pasta shapes, edited that list down to 33 core pastas, and identified 15 iconic versions that we shouldn’t live without. But this isn’t about mastery. It’s about paying attention, and this year I want to pay more attention.

As an Italian-American, this also feels a bit like my “nonna’s book” on pasta; my nonna, Matilda (Tilly), didn’t keep a book, so maybe this is a bit of my desire to write it all down. I ask only this: keep me honest, and keep me focused. I am sure this will evolve, and hopefully it will be useful. Next week, I will post our winter “menu” of filled pastas. Do me a favor: give it a read, and give some feedback. And check out this awesome charcoal drawing of tortellini by .

In Italy, we don’t barbecue - we grigliata.

Spring has many smells in Rome - the shucking of fresh fava beans, the sweet nectar of wisteria, and of course, the good smell of a grill.

Yes, Italians love to grill, to cook things alla brace (on the grill). Not in the American football tailgate kind of way, though I’m sure they would love it, given how much Italians know about food and cars. In Italy, a grigliata is the way to say Ciao Spring! The right way: with bellies full of meat and wine. And all of your friends around, just having a grand old time.

An invitation to a grigliata is one you don’t want to turn down. It’s a notion that someone wants to spend time with you, savoring the unbeatably beautiful rays of sun that Spring brings to Rome. But you must prepare yourself; a grigliata doesn’t just end at sunset; these parties often carry on into the night, finishing at who knows what hour - it all depends on your company and how many bottles of wine there are.

The grigliata could be in the park, but it’s always best in the countryside. Groups of friends pack themselves into as few cars as possible and drive to someone’s home or winery to sit outside, chatting, eating, and grilling the day away.

Now, grigliate (plural of grigliata) look a little different than your classic American backyard barbecue. In fact, they are technically two completely different things.

At a grigliata, there is often a real wood-burning fire. There is no Weber here. Sometimes, you’ll find a campfire or bonfire - a full-on caveman cooking situation. This is not an insult - cooking on an open fire is an actual skill. Watching friends expertly maneuver a campfire grill to cook meat to perfection was a cue that I alone wouldn’t survive in the wild.

These parties bring us back to the very beginnings of mankind. Fire was discovered as a tool for survival - but more: a community cornerstone. It’s Mother Nature’s reminder of the simple things that nurture us - the warmth of a flame, a good chiacchiarata (chat) with a loved one, and a succulent piece of meat to hush our hungry bellies. Honestly, the smell of a local steak grilling on an open fire could seduce even the most vegan; I am sure of that. Don’t get me wrong - many Italians do use grills. They are much smaller than the American ones and are often wood-stocked with a variety of wood - from ash to oak to olive - there’s a lot of flavor to play with if you’re really into grilling that way.

My first time

It’s hard to forget your first grigliata. Mine was in Tuscany, which spoiled me a bit because the hosts really knew food. They sourced local sausages, sheep meat, and, of course, a very sexy bistecca fiorentina. There is no better way to eat it, and no single restaurant in Florence can

beat this bistecca cooked at a grigliata. The open flame caramelizes and chars the steak in a

way your mouth can never forget. Not to mention the meat was from the butcher down the

street, in business for the last 50 years.

As you can imagine - a grigliata can look different depending on where you are in Italy. Everyone has their own meat preferences, which shift generously from the love of lamb in Lazio to the ever-famous bistecca Fiorentina in Tuscany. Still, even in Tuscany, not everyone eats a bistecca Fiorentina - it’s expensive and hard to find a good quality.

I’ll never forget being at a grigliata with friends last Spring, and the host couldn’t get the meat from his favorite butcher. Guess what? We did another grigliata just to experience how great this butcher was. I remember the steak being great. Was it better? My judgment doesn’t count - I drank copious amounts of wine that night.

There’s no grigliata without wine

At any grigliata, you need things you can sip all day and night long.

Wine is a natural part of any grigliata and every eating occasion in the Italian peninsula. There’s no better way to taste and explore a slew of wines than at this grilling affair. Every guest brings a bottle they love. Granted, your olfactory skills won’t be as strong with the smell of wood burning all around. But someone must eat all that meat; and we need wine to help us do it.

That said, a grigliata is an awesome opportunity to savor white and or red wines throughout the day and throughout the seasons - from those refreshing and bright to those bold, dark, and mysterious. No matter which way you go, both represent Spring, with new vintage releases that have been waiting to pop out of the cellar.

The ever-changing grigliata

Grigliate - just like any food tradition in Italy - isn’t the same everywhere. The meat is different, the wine is different, and the people are different. That’s what makes Italy the giant 116,631 square-mile layer cake of culture that it is.

We cannot deny that Italy is literally and culturally part of the global food trade. Young Italians are falling in love with foreign food traditions and trends, from ramen to southern American barbecue. Pulled pork is now a well-recognized food in Italy. So, don’t be surprised if you pull up to an Italian grigliata with burgers on the grill. It’s always a possibility.

Do Italians do burgers better? I’ll save that answer for another day.

ITALY IN DECEMBER

No matter where we are in the world, December always sneaks up on us like a mouse in the movies, eager to eat the leftover crumbs of Santa’s cookies and milk. Here in Rome, the last month of the year can have many faces - an early Spring tease or a wet tropical island - but all remarkably beautiful. From the sun-soaked pine trees to the lights bouncing off the sampietrini (Roman cobblestones), there’s no shortage of magic in the air this time of year in Italy.

Let me tell you about December. For Italians, December 8th is like the Thanksgiving of the holiday season. Of course, advent technically starts on the first of December. But the 8th - La Festa dell’Immacolata or the Feast of the Immaculate Conception is when it is officially 100 percent acceptable to start blasting Christmas tunes and decorating everything in silver and gold (yes, Italians do love holiday decorations, Mariah Carey, and Babbo Natale (Santa)). December 8^th is a national holiday - the first day of the holiday season when everyone has off work and can get into the holiday spirit and maybe experience their first ski getaway. Italy is a country blessed with a spine of mountains from North to South, and the gorgeous Alps make up Italy’s crown and offer no shortage of winter escapes.

Religion, super ski slopes, and commercialism aside, we all know that the actual Italian December holiday decorations are the food and wine. I bet you are already thinking - the Feast of the Seven Fishes! Fancy Chiantis and legendary Barolos!

Well, not exactly.

Italian holiday foods - like the country - are pretty varied, although there are some things that align them. One is fish.

IT’S BACCALA, BABY

Have you ever noticed how much baccala (salted cod) is in Italy? Especially this time of year? In Rome and Napoli, there are no holidays without fried baccala. This tradition even traveled to America, becoming a symbol of Italian-American culture on The Sopranos. If you are from New York or New Jersey, you all know Bobby Baccala.

This is not by coincidence.

Eating fish on Christmas Eve or during the holidays naturally brings us back to the Church again. The concept of purifying the body by not eating any animal meat is as old as the Old Testament.

Still - the consumption of lots of fish isn't about religion. It was about survival.

People weren’t always eating grandiose plates of spaghetti alle vongole or baked branzino or celebrating the Feast of the Seven Fishes, which has murky roots and is considered an Italian-American holiday.

Since Roman times, cod has entered Italy thanks to trade with northern countries. Salting ensured it could travel well with the sailors, arriving safe and edible when they docked in Italy.

Salt was a currency. It’s the reason that Tuscans and Umbrians don’t salt their bread. But with baccala, it gets pretty interesting.

During the Renaissance, salted cod became a staple, not out of taste preference but because of political shifts. At the time, the Catholic Church began reinforcing fasting rules, restricting meat consumption on holy days as an act of faith and religious reform.

The result - the fish prices went up, and the common people were left with already limited options. So, coastal cities began to import more baccala - making it a staple of the times.

Returning to the 21st century, to an Italy where not everyone honors religious holidays - baccala (and fish) is still a staple. It remains a symbol of celebration - from a past of scarcity to a present of abundance, whether baccala mantecato cicchetti in Venice or fried baccala on a Roman street corner.

And it all goes down great with a glass of wine.

WINTER WHITE WINE

What’s that you say? No deep reds for the winter? Not always. When it comes to fish - Italians adore a good glass of white wine in the wintertime. With so many brilliant options from north to south, there’s not a single drop of boredom in finding wine pairings for your fish-filled feast.

Traveling to Venice, where bridges are illuminated in lights and canals look like midnight skies; locals indulge in friendly local white wines (an ombra, as the Venetians call a glass of wine). A crisp Soave with sizzling minerality or a more bodied Friulano make all the cicchetti (little tapas-style bites) go down easy.

Down in Rome, there’s no better treat after wandering the boutiques around Campo de’ Fiori than a fried piece of baccala, extra hot and greasy enough to get your fingers messy. After two bites, you’re already craving a good glass of Passerina - a refreshing, easygoing local wine from Lazio - from the low-key enoteca around the corner.

Yet, the greatest glass of wine comes on Christmas Day. After all the fish and a long day of eating and small talk with relatives we only see once a year, we escape to local watering holes - to see friends because they, too, are family.

Because no matter what you eat or celebrate, togetherness makes the holidays Italian.

Winter White Wines by Jordan Mackay

Heading out of town to spend the long Thanksgiving weekend with friends, I loaded two crates of wine into the back of the car - a case of red and a case of white. Overkill for four adults, no doubt, but the motto of anyone charged with bringing wine is “Be prepared.” While we drank well, we didn’t go through everything. Nevertheless, I was surprised at what I came home with - seven bottles of red and only one bottle of white.

Champagne aside, holiday wine traditionally tends toward the color red. Big, savory centerpieces - standing rib roast of prime beef, leg of lamb, rack of pork, roasted duck, and goose - beg for wines of substance. Likewise, cold weather generally drives cravings for hot-blooded, gullet-warming reds.

In fact, we plowed through snow, sleet, and rain on our drive across Massachusetts. Yet, over the next several days, we drank mostly white wine, a good reminder that there is no real season for any wine - it all depends on what you’re doing and eating and how you feel. If, as we do over the holidays, you spend lots of time in the kitchen, ovens firing and burners blazing, your body may crave wines that are chilled, zesty, and refreshing. Over several afternoons, we crowded around the kitchen island, prepping dishes while snacking on cheese, dips, charcuterie, smoked salmon, and tinned fish - all perfect white wine food. And seafood courses of raw oysters (which are in peak form this time of year), seared scallops, and oyster stuffing for the turkey cried out for white wine above all else!

So, then the question is, what kinds of white wines? “All of them” is an acceptable answer, but let's say you want to nod to frosty weather and drink to the season. Maybe you rule out the lightest white wine styles - say Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Grigio, and that’s okay - the world gives us plenty of white wines to mirror the season's demands.

In winter, I gravitate to medium-bodied whites. Don’t always follow the received wisdom and rely on the classical traits of familiar wines. Wine books love to characterize Chablis as racy and light. These days, thanks to a warming climate, Chablis (especially at the village, premier, and grand crus levels) is often a rounded, mouth-filling, and potent wine with plenty of richness and extract to pair not only with raw oysters but creamy clam chowders and buttery bisques. Likewise, another French wine, Chenin Blanc, produces powerful and energetic wines of considerable body in appellations like Savennieres, Vouvray, and Montlouis. People think of Riesling as a lighter white, but that is hardly true for many of Germany’s top offerings from the Rheingau, Mosel, and Rheinhessen, and even less so in Austria and Alsace.

And what of the great fountain of white wine that is Italy? The lengthy geography of Italy issues the entire range of whites from light and sassy to rich and ponderous. Like our Thanksgiving turkey, we sliced it right down the middle stylistically, going for medium-bodied, mineral-tinged wines. We had a couple of different Verdicchios from the Marche - stony and savory with just enough weight to counterbalance my Merino wool sweater. We had some Friulian white blends, anchored by the soaring high notes of aromatic grapes like Malvasia with the gravity of Tocai Friulano and Chardonnay. Carricante, the white wine from Sicily, from Mt. Etna’s volcanic high grounds substitutes intensity for heaviness, its acidity lighting up your tongue like a garishly decorated yard. And we sipped smooth Soave, whose best versions, like a pair of warm pajamas, are so comfortable and easy that you can rep them all day.

While the year closes with the kinds of occasions that bring out the red wines, don’t forget that it’s also perfectly seasonal to sport your winter whites.

AN ITALIAN SUNDAY

There’s nothing more Italian than a Sunday table overflowing with everything that matters - crusty bread, bottles of wine, bowls of pasta, a few sauce stains, and the echo of laughter. Maybe the scene unfolds on the cobblestone streets of Rome or a terrazza with a view of the dazzling Mediterranean Sea. It’s an image that feels timeless, almost poetic.

A Sunday lunch is an enduring symbol of Italian life - defined by quality ingredients and seizing every moment together. With such a romantic image, you might wonder - do Italians really eat like this? The answer is as simple as it is surprising.

IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THE PIZZA

This might sound like a joke, but it’s not. Sundays in Italy are still for long and leisurely lunches that begin at l’una (1 p.m.) and wind down… whenever. Maybe it’s 3 p.m., maybe it’s 5:30 p.m. No rush, no agenda - just family, friends, and plenty of pasta. And after all that food, what comes next is a good couch to take a good pisolino (little nap).

It’s only natural to assume that dinner might be skipped after an afternoon of indulgence. But Italians don’t stray far from their rituals, even following a four-hour lunch. Dinner is often something light, and in Italy, that means pizza.

An American might raise an eyebrow - how can pizza be considered light? But if you’ve ever tried a pizza romana tonda (a thin, crispy Roman pizza), you’d get it. It’s cracker-thin, quick to cook, and when paired with a cold pint of beer, it’s the perfect end to the weekend - setting you up to snooze until Monday.

Like many things in Rome, late-night pizza is a tradition rooted in the past - when pizzerias needed all day to heat their ovens and churn out pies. While modern kitchens have changed, the tradition remains. Today, many Roman pizzerias aren’t open for lunch, only for dinner. And, after the weekend rush - many are closed on Mondays.

That’s because pizza isn’t just a meal; it’s part of the ritual, a celebration, a “cheers” to the end of the weekend. And if there’s one thing Italians are experts at, it’s celebrating.

Queue the opening scene of La Grande Bellezza.

ROME ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON

Picture this: It’s Sunday in Rome, around 1:15 p.m. Fall has arrived; summer has slipped away, and the locals are back. Reservations are essential - Romans are heading to their second homes, known as their favorite restaurants.

Wander down the cobbled streets, and you’ll find families and friends filling the roads, making their way to tables already set with carafes of wine, a few ashtrays, and plenty of room for a baby carriage or two.

You may be thinking - why aren’t they heading to nonna’s house?

The reality is – Rome is a city of many. It is filled with people from all parts of Italy and beyond. Not everyone has a local nonna to retreat to.

Some may escape to lakes or countryside homes, but for most city dwellers, the Sunday ritual happens right in the heart of Rome - at the restaurants that have become their sanctuaries. These aren’t just any eateries; they are places where the owners, servers, and cooks feel like family, where childhood memories blend with new traditions - whether that be swapping their pasta for a katsu sandwich or meatballs for a chicken salad.

NEW YORKERS, YOU UNDERSTAND

The constants are simple: a big table, a group of loved ones, and no end time. There will be cigarette breaks, and the conversations will be abundant, much like the plates being passed around. The Sunday table is a reminder to stay present - raise a glass, bump elbows, and savor the moment. Whether the view is the Mediterranean or the rooftops of Rome, one thing is clear: life is good.

Because Monday can wait with its public transport chaos, its scioperi (a transportation strike), and the inevitable need for multiple coffee breaks.

A Love Letter by Jordan Mackay

These words are devoted to appreciating the simple beauty of drinking wine in restaurants. A good wine experience can be one of the most delightful, educational, and satisfying aspects of dining out. 

The most memorable aspect of a great restaurant wine exchange is the connection formed when two people bond over wine. When you fully immerse yourself in the dining experience, everything seems to glow: the wine, the food, the conversation. It’s because you’ve allowed yourself to relax and embrace the moment. Of course, a sip of wine may help you get there, but once you're settled in, there's no better place to be. Your mind drifts comfortably into the immediate now while your body absorbs the energy from the restaurant's buzz and the comfort of a well-appointed room. Engaging conversation ensues, fueled by happiness and nourishment. This is the pleasure of being cared for - this is why we dine out. At its best, wine not only accelerates this experience but elevates it in ways that go beyond the simple enjoyment of fermented grape juice.

Add a favorable connection with a server or sommelier; it can transform a good dining experience into something you’ll reminisce about for years. Bring an open mind and curiosity, and you'll most often be rewarded. At the very least, you might be introduced to a classic food-and-wine pairing, perhaps something you've never experienced before. There’s joy in that discovery, in learning something new.

As you’re deliberating over the menu and the wine list, a couple of recommendations, maybe a taste of wine, might arrive to help you figure things out. When we show genuine enjoyment in our experience, we might be honored with a glass of something rare or special that unexpectedly graces our table. A great rapport with a restaurant's wine team can lead to wonderful, unanticipated experiences: an amuse-bouche from the kitchen is always delightful, but a surprise pour of a rare wine can be truly unforgettable.

These are the luminous possibilities of a wine-and-food experience at a great restaurant. A "great" restaurant doesn’t have to be Michelin-starred; it could be your favorite local spot if the experience is crafted with care.

THE CRAFT

The art of curating an excellent wine-and-food experience begins with attention to detail, which means placing the food first and selecting wines that complement it. We come for comfort; we leave with the wonder of wine experiences. This is the act of curation that narrows down the vast diversity of the wine world into a few perfect selections that a chef elevates with their food - wines that align not just with your dish but with your personal preferences. Do you like Chianti with steak? Here are three wines representing a spectrum of styles, all tried and tested with the steak. If you were heading home from work and stopped at a wine shop to buy wine for dinner, you might feel overwhelmed by a multitude of choices, hoping you pick the right one. But at a great restaurant, the guesswork is gone, and the pairing is assured.

Now you're seated, enjoying the ambiance. You've ordered still or sparkling water, talked through the specials, and the food is on its way. Then comes the glassware. While it’s easy to acquire nice glassware for home these days, there's something special about being served in meticulously polished, perfectly appropriate glasses - especially when you don’t have to clean them later!

The point of wine is pleasure. Despite what some might say, it’s a luxury, not a necessity. So why not yield to the pleasure and savor every sip of wine fully and appreciatively when you go out to eat?

We asked Victoria Cece, our Roman correspondent, to talk all things fame and Italian fashion. But, instead, she cut into the world’s favorite Italian accessory, food.

If someone stopped you on the street and asked you what Italy is famous for - what would you say?

You’d probably say food. And if it’s not food, it’s fashion.

The two are glamorous echoes of Italian history keeping the world under a spell. Whether it’s slipping on Prada heels or slurping a sexy bowl of spaghetti, each is a statement that grabs attention, makes us feel good, and screams Italian!

If Italian fashion is obviously fashionable, it’s innocent to ask - how did Italian food become fashionable?

A Quick History

Italian food and beverages have become the world’s favorite accessory.

Of course, we could blame it on the Italians’ knack for style in just about anything. One scroll on Tiktok or Instagram, and you’ll be blown away by the effortless elegance of Milanese nonne having a coffee in their finest fur or a Roman businessman speeding away on a scooter in a perfectly pointed Armani suit.

Italian food and beverage have long had that same effect. Like fashion, food is an experience conveyed through vivid imagery since the early days of 'Made in Italy' marketing.

We’ve all been charmed by vintage Italian art deco advertisements featuring Italy’s iconic food and beverage. Think red and black Campari posters with chic women holding bottles of the beloved aperitivo. Maybe you saw it on the wall of a stylish caffeteria in Milan or just on Pinterest. Either way, the poster made us think: sipping that Campari would make us feel fabulous.

These advertisements were so ingenious that their effect hasn’t faded after all these years, when Italian food and fashion’s Renaissance began back in the 1950s and 1960s.

Sure, Italian food and fashion predate this time - when kings and queens dressed in the finest silks and velvet robes, eating foreign fruits like tomatoes. However, the real beginnings of the Italian food and fashion we know today evolved during the Economic Miracle that came post World War II in the 1950s and 1960s. During this period, a major injection of financial resources gave hope to every Italian and gave opportunity to modern Italian visionaries to get to work.

With centuries of art history in their veins, these creators put to market the beauty of Italy in every detail, and every food and beverage. Italy ravaged by war was of the past - the Italy of la dolce vita, the Italy of the now, is here. Fashion, food, and beverage became an indulgence, an experience - not just a need for survival.

Like Campari, it is not just a bitter red digestif - it is the way to turn any moment, anywhere, into a chic aperitivo in a bustling piazza, alongside well-dressed Italians.

Since then, Italian food and beverage has evolved as a global go-to accessory.

Pasta, The Ultimate Accessory

The most popular Italian pantry item is a powerful fashion statement.

How many times have we seen a photo of Sophia Loren enjoying a bowl of pasta or read her famous quote, “Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.”

Her elegance, allure, wit, and beauty are all because of pasta, a simple, affordable accessory that tells us we can do anything. When summer arrives, everyone channels the Loren energy in curated photos of cute outfits and bowls of pasta, eager to get the perfect shot of a spaghetti twirl.

Loren’s pasta legacy has even inspired big fashion houses to embrace food. Who could forget Dolce & Gabbana’s 2016 and 2017 campaigns, an ode to the culture and mysticism of Loren’s la città partenopea, Napoli? The brand’s 2017 perfume campaign “The One Grey” featured actor Kit Harington waltzing around a lively Neapolitan market, dancing with the locals who are boasting platters of babà al rum, Napoli’s queen dessert.

Dolce & Gabbana's picture of Napoli is quite idyllic—a colorful one we wish to enter with every bite of spaghetti.

And we can. Dolce & Gabbana now collaborates with Pasta di Martino, a recognized brand from the historic pasta-producing area of Gragnano in Campania. The fashion house’s trademark patterns add a stylish touch to your bags of spaghetti and fusilli.

Today, pasta is no longer just a fashion statement; it is a literal accessory.

Meet Barilla’s pasta bag. Yes, one of the most famous pasta brands has a purse. Designed by Nik Betel, the “pasta” bag took over TikTok as the most coveted accessory. Since then, everything from farfalle earrings to pasta scarves has surfaced - with people ready to sport their favorite food wherever and whenever.

Would Sophia Lorena approve of the pasta bag? We’d have to ask the Queen herself. Regardless, the alignment of food and fashion in Italy is no surprise.

From its Baroque buildings to its numerous pasta shapes to Balenciaga’s recreation of the trash bag, Italy has shown the world that it will long be a center of creativity, ingenuity, and experimentation. Food is art, fashion is art, and Italy is art.

Cover image courtesy of our author, Victoria Cece. Check out her newsletter, on this platform, over here.

“Who’s ready for a bath,” my maternal grandmother, Rose — aka Nanna — asked in her sing-song voice to the only person in her kitchen as I raised both arms for her to pull my t-shirt up and over my head. I loved taking bubble baths in her mid-century espresso-brown kitchen sink. Nanna lived with my grandfather, Jim, in the apartment above ours, on the second floor of a clapboard rowhouse on the West Side of Jersey City, where we moved in 1969. In the front garden stood a statue of the ‘Sacred Heart of Jesus’ in a five-foot-high clamshell, his arms outstretched to bless all who passed by. Strangers thought our house was a rectory. From one of her kitchen windows, the one to the right of the radiator — atop which she was fermenting pizza dough in a huge ceramic bowl wrapped in a blanket — I could see the Twin Towers rising across the Hudson River. Before she could plop me into the sink, she had first to lift the heavy bowl of salt cod out, which she had been soaking under a slow but steady stream of cold water for hours. “One fish out,” she said, exaggerating the heavy lift, placing the bowl on the counter, “and another one in,” she continued, hoisting me into the sink. As the water and bubbles rose around my lap, she’d hum-sing Neapolitan hymns while baptizing me with water she poured over my head from a clear plastic Tupperware measuring cup. “La vit è bell’” she’d sing in her clipped Napolitano dialect, “life is beautiful.”

Salt cod — baccalà — is the fish of my childhood, especially during the meals shared in Nanna’s apartment on Fridays and Sundays. Salted cod was a traditional dish of Italy’s cucina povera; it was the original Slow Food because it took days of soaking to reconstitute and desalinate it. For working-class families like ours, my grandmother could leave her prepared, salted cod submerged in water in her deep sink all day while she was sewing zippers into pants at a factory nearby, then return home in the evening, drain the sink, rinse the fish, and repeat overnight. There was a longstanding tradition in our family to choose fish over meat for certain meals, a tradition deeply rooted in a promise my Nanna made during a challenging time in history: If her brothers returned safely from the Second World War, she would continue this practice every Friday as a lifelong commitment. Her brothers came home, and for the rest of her Fridays on this earth, we hit the baccalà lottery, lightly floured and browned in olive oil, then simmered with homemade tomato passata, potatoes, black olives, and oregano. The rich blend of sweet, savory, and briny aromas from this dish is something I can recall vividly, a cherished memory that feels as close as the kitchen of my childhood.

Once I was old enough to be trusted holding sharp utensils and cooking on the stove, Nanna taught me how to make doughs for pizza, batters for cakes, all sorts of pasta, sauces for pasta, gravy for meats, and dressings for salads. From her, I not only learned how to remove the salt from her beloved salt cod but also how to add salt to recipes by way of savory staples in the Italian Pantry: Parmigiano-Reggiano, Locatelli Romano, provolone, prosciutto di Parma, soppressata, capers, and, of course, anchovies and sardines. The tragic irony of all of this is that amid all these lessons (well into my teens), Nanna was diagnosed with hypertension and forced to limit her salt intake severely. Regardless, my palate was well attuned to seasoning by then, so I took over salting on her behalf.

Italians didn’t invent salt, but their cities were founded according to their proximity to saltworks, as their Etruscan and Roman forbears certainly knew a great commodity when they tasted it. As far back as the 7^th Century BC, Rome started building its saltworks to break its dependence on Etruscan salt, founding the Via Salaria — the Salt Road — to distribute it to the burgeoning empire along the Italian peninsula. Then, in the 4^th Century BC, Rome was sacked by the Celts and brought with them their savvy for widespread salt trading. It’s worth pointing out that the Celts of Northern Europe were called the Galli, or Gauls, by the Romans, a word derived from hal, the Greek word for salt, referring to the Celts/Gauls as the salt people.

A few centuries later, in 51 BC, Julius Caesar conquered Celtic Gaul. The Roman victory was total. As Mark Kurlansky writes in his epic paean, “Salt: A World History” (Penguin, 2003), “Celtic inventions — in salt mining, iron, agriculture, trade, horsemanship — enriched the Roman Empire. Celtic salt mines became part of Roman wealth, and Celtic hams became part of the Roman diet, with few ever remembering that such things were once Celtic. The Celts were innovators. The Romans were nation builders.” That’s right; the pig-loving Celts are credited with salting the legs of wild boars, giving Western culture the first salt-cured hams. 

Kurlansky said that salt was a necessary part of empire building for the Romans; they developed saltworks throughout their expanded world, establishing them on seashores, marshes, and brine springs throughout the Italian peninsula. By conquest, they took over not only Hallstatt, Hallein, and the many Celtic works of Gaul and Britain but also the saltworks of the Phoenicians and Carthaginians in North Africa, Sicily, Spain, and Portugal. If that weren’t enough, they acquired Greek, Black Sea, and ancient Middle Eastern works, including the saltworks of Mount Sodom by the Dead Sea. More than 60 saltworks from the Roman Empire have been identified. At times, they even paid their soldiers in salt, which is where the word salary comes from, as well as the phrases “worth his salt” or “earned his salt.”

In the 3^rd Century BC, between the bookends of the Celts sacking Rome and Rome subsuming the Celts, Sicily made salt in the marshlands around Trapani on the island’s west coast. That tradition still lives on today. I’ve traveled and curated wine, food, and history tours of Sicily since 2006. This is how I have found myself several times up to my knees in gloriously pastel-colored salt marshes in the shadow of a 16^th-century windmill that is still grinding salt today. I fell in love with this salt and with this place. For many years, I brought home bags of still-damp sale marino (sea salt), nearly opaque or gray (sel gris, as the French say), because it was impossible to find here until recently.

Eventually, I started tinkering with salt blends, mounting kosher and sea salt with fresh garlic and herbs, mashed into a paste, and then mixed into the salt. I’d often make a quick batch of this as a gift for friends when they invited me for dinner. Over the years, so many people asked me to make more of it to share that I eventually scaled it up to massive amounts, drying it for days in dozens of sheet pans on my dining room table. In our apartment building here in the Heights neighborhood of Jersey City (yes, I still live here!), neighbors on the fifth floor would text me on the first floor to ask if I was drying salt — they could smell it up there! I likened my “super salt” to a powerful flavor vehicle, insisting that it could save home cooks a lot of time by using it instead of lackluster dry herbs or having to chop everything fresh.

I’d like to think that Nanna — who I was fortunate to have in my life well into my 40s (she passed away in 2009) — would be proud of this latest chapter in my culinary evolution. My only hope (and fear) is that I don’t inherit her hypertension. Thus, I salt carefully — yet powerfully.

Anthony Giglio is a journalist, sommelier, and storyteller. He is the Wine Director for the American Express Centurion Global Lounge Collection and a longtime contributing editor to FOOD & WINE magazine.

In 2019, Giglio, finally took the plunge and SUPERSALT was born. Made of Sicilian sale marino, as a tribute to his wife, Antonia, whose family emigrated from Sicily in the 1960s, and his love of the salt from Trapani. The salt is harvested, then packed in Bologna with fresh herbs and garlic, and imported to the United States. You can find SUPERSALT online here.

SUPERSALT is a registered trademark and property of Side Gig, LLC, and is not affiliated with Massican.

Salt has a paradoxical place in the world of food. On one hand, it’s the greatest common dominator across all cuisines and, thus, arguably, the most important ingredient in any dish. At the same time, most foods can be made and consumed without salt, so salt is technically optional. Yet, on its own, sodium chloride is never considered a food, though, to be fair, the element sodium (number 11 on the periodic table) is seen as a “macromineral” that provides our bodies with essential ions.

Salt crystals are obtained via the evaporation of salt water or extraction from salt mines. Albeit ubiquitous and quotidian today, salt in ancient times held immense value. Romans founded cities near sources of salt, created a highway called the Salt Road (Via Salaria), and even, at times, paid soldiers in salt. Indeed, the Italian word for salt, sale, is the basis of our word “salary.” Salt’s ability to preserve foods through dehydration made it invaluable during human existence before the (very recent) advent of refrigeration.

Today, besides its uses in curing, salt’s great contribution to gastronomy is its ability to help ingredients taste more clearly and intensely of themselves, which is a subtle yet powerful capability. Too much salt obliterates this effect, but just the right amount allows food to taste savory, attractive, and delicious - a balance that can only be measured by the human tongue and is subject to individual palates and preferences.

In Italian cuisine, salt is ingeniously woven into the fabric of many dishes, not through its addition as a raw seasoning but through the incorporation of flavorful products created with it. Ingredients like anchovies, capers, olives, and pecorino cheese are savory, umami-rich, and extremely salty. Dishes made with them usually require less seasoning with salt.

When it comes to their pantries, Italian cooks often stock three kinds of salt. The first is a fine, flaky finishing sea salt like Maldon. This is to dust dishes just before serving for a little bump of salinity and a snap of crunch. It shows particularly well on proteins, from steak to pork chops to whole fish.

The second kind of salt in an Italian pantry is for seasoning food while cooking. For this purpose, kosher salt is the preference of most chefs, as its comfortably pinchable crystals are easy to grasp and distribute with two or three fingers. It also dissolves quickly into liquids. The two major brands of kosher salt available in American markets, Diamond and Morton’s, are composed of differently sized crystals, thus making them not interchangeable in recipes that measure by volume! Salt is always the same by weight - a gram of Diamond is the same as a gram of Morton’s. However, these salt’s different densities make the classic measurements of volume (teaspoon, tablespoon, etc.) problematic. So, whichever you choose, be aware that Morton’s is significantly denser than Diamond and cannot be used interchangeably by volume. 

The most common salt-related refrain in all cooking is the Italian injunction to remember to salt your pasta water; therefore, the third pantry item is inexpensive, bulk sea salt that Italian chefs use specifically for that purpose.

How salty to make your pasta water is a matter of preference, as many cookbooks tell you to salt the water “generously” or until it “tastes like the sea.” If you can remember what seawater tastes like, more power to you. Generally, seawater has a salt concentration of 3.5%, or 35 grams per liter (1,000 grams) of water, which is, in fact, far more salt than most recommendations for cooking pasta call for. But then, if you do a little research, you will find that most recommendations call for teaspoons or tablespoons without specifying which kind of salt, so it can’t be taken too literally. The best adage is to find a concentration that tastes reasonably salty but not so much that you want to gag. Usually, 2% to 2.5% salt is sufficient.

Salting pasta water is indeed essential, though. Failure to do so, no matter how flavorful your sauce, will result in bland pasta. However, occasions exist when you will want to salt the pasta water less. For instance, fresh clams release actual seawater into a sauce. So, if you are making linguine and clams and plan to finish cooking the pasta in the sauce - a popular technique - the dish will be unpalatably salty if you salt the pasta water at a normal rate.

No Italian chef nor an Italian neighbor will summarize salt this succinctly - but the recommendation for the Italian pantry when it comes to salt is typically free-form: use salt, but not too much, nor too little.

Italians are not typically bitter people, but, oh, do they love a bitter flavor, which they have made a key component of their diet, as evidenced by the gusto with which they consume vegetables like radicchio, arugula, artichoke, and escarole. Yet nowhere is the Italian penchant for bitterness more pronounced than in the national love of bitter alcohols: vermouth, the pre-prandial spirit known as an aperitivo, and the post-prandial digestive drink known as amaro (plural amari).

A love of bitterness is not a palpable human trait. Bitter taste receptors are one of the few hard-wired sensors on our tongue (along with salt, sour, sweet, and umami receptors). In nature, the taste of bitterness primarily signals toxins. Our bitter taste receptors are gatekeepers, providing instant and explicit warnings not to eat whatever plant (usually) provides that flavor. But humans are risk takers and have, over millennia, discovered that we can override that warning and ingest bitter foods for the betterment of both our health and gastronomical pleasure. Many bitter compounds contain phytonutrients that in small amounts offer antioxidant, anticancer, and anti-inflammatory properties. Furthermore, thanks to receptors in our gastrointestinal tract, bitter compounds can be sensed (not "tasted") post-ingestion and have been found to support the gut microbiome, aid in appetite regulation, and boost digestion. It’s these latter functions that make the Italian practice of drinking amari so sensible and compelling. 

VERMOUTH

France and (especially) Spain boast strong vermouth cultures, but vermouth's modern origin is Turin, Italy, in 1786, where Antonio Benedetto Carpano created the first commercial brand of herbal, fortified wine. Vermouth gets its name from “wermut,” the German word for wormwood, the active ingredient in absinthe and an extremely bitter plant. For medicinal reasons and palatability, other herbs and spices are infused. A sweetening agent makes it more palatable, and a fortifying spirit preserves the mixture to create a liquid of 15-18% alcohol (not much more than a glass of wine).

In general, Italian vermouth—often based on red wine—is classically associated with a sweeter, richer, and spicier base than its counterparts in France and Spain. Classic Italian brands are Cocchi, Martini & Rossi, and Carpano, but other brands abound. While it’s become best known in the U.S. as a cocktail ingredient, vermouth is commonly drunk in Europe as an aperitivo.

The pre-dinner, slightly bitter, low-alcohol drink, aka the “aperitivo,” is a staple of Italian dining culture and lifestyle. The period of the aperitivo begins in the early evening and often involves a diverse variety of little snacky foods like bruschetta, olives, nuts, and salumi. These accompany the star of the show, the aperitivo cocktail - a cold, refreshing spritz of some kind or a simple mixed drink made with vermouth or a bitter spirit. The most famous examples of aperitivi spirits are Campari and Aperol, but many other brands exist on the market. The famous Campari is extremely bitter and stronger in alcohol than its orange-hued, sweeter, and mildly bitter counterpart Aperol. While Campari and red vermouth team with gin to make a Negroni, the strength of that drink makes it more cocktail than aperitivo. In Italy, a more common aperitivo is the basic Campari and Soda, served over ice. Aperol’s primary deployment is the ubiquitous Aperol Spritz, in which it's mixed with prosecco and soda water and garnished with an orange slice. Both drinks are low enough in alcohol that you don’t stumble to the dinner table but have ingested enough bitterness to curb your appetite and prepare you for digestion. Both spirits deserve a place on your bar (or your pantry). 

AMARO

The final category of bitter spirits, the amaro, is the most intense, both in bitterness and alcoholic strength. While amaro often finds its way into cocktails (and can even be spritzed for a strong aperitivo), its primary role is as a digestive - served straight up after a meal or sometimes on ice. If downing a high-alcohol, sweet, room-temperature, and extremely bitter shot after a large meal sounds anything but digestive, the science of bitterness and over 150 years of European tradition suggest otherwise. 

Common amaro categories include alpine amari like Braulio, which are based on bitter botanicals found at altitude in the mountains; rabarbaro, which are made from rhubarb; carciofi amari, such as Cynar, are bittered with artichoke leaves; and Fernets, which are bitter, strong and medicinal (the name invokes iron). Amari range from the massive national brands - the moderately bitter and molasses-sweet Averna and the mouth-puckeringly medicinal Fernet. Other common brands include Montenegro, Cardamaro, Meletti, Nonino, Lucano, and Ramazzotti. Ultimately, there are probably as many versions of amaro as there are villages in Italy. Any two or three should be sufficient for your bar pantry. Serve them straight as an ounce or two or on the rocks after a big Mediterranean meal for good digestion and a woozy sleep: a gulp of bitterness will ultimately leave you unembittered.