It was wonderful sleeping in our own bed. No jamming things in and out of suitcases, no boxes to be filled and hauled.
A neighbour had kindly stocked the fridge with a tomato, a mozzarella, a pint of milk and some beers so an early trip to the supermarket was called for.
I was on a secret mission- inspired by our trip to Valencia- I wanted to start growing cacti, and thwarted in Rome, I wanted to have clam pasta. Nothing says welcome to Italy like clam pasta, panna cotta dessert and shots of ice cold limoncello.
After an aborted pause at the first supermarket (no, frozen clams aren’t the same) we went to one on the road to Pisa which has a fine fishmongers. Happily I’d found some mini cactus. GS and I have different ways of cooking clam spaghetti so we decided to do mine first and his the next day in the battle of the vongoles.
The super friendly fishmonger lady beamed at me, said they were Italian and fresh, threw in a handful of samphire. She said to put them in cold water for an hour.
GS said to cover them with a damp tea towel- but why?
OK, so I will say this. Don’t plant cacti whilst trying to cook clam pasta. Do not treat dehydration with half bottle of wine. Do not put in garlic too early and forget. Do not use fresh chilli (feeble). Do add loads more parsley, garlic and chilli.
Do make sure that that oil is very hot and a lid ready so when the poor clams go in they cook as quickly as possible. It’s best to remember that the tiny Arselle clams will take less time than the meatier ‘truthful’ Verace vongoles. When you take off the lid all their little vongole souls escape.
On balance it is better to add a little salt to the the spaghetti.
It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I tiptoed downstairs to make the tea the next morning.
I had forgotten to put the tea towel on the ones we didn’t eat. In the middle of the night I sat bolt upright as it dawned on me, that without a tea towel restraint, the clams would have found a way to jump out of their bowl and make a break for freedom. I gingerly opened the fridge door expecting to find them scattered within the fridge and/or leaping out to get me – but all was well.
Guantlets down for the second night of the Vongole Challenge, the Clash of the Clams and excitement in the kitchen was at fever pitch.
There was total anarchy- crushed cloves of garlic, handfuls of chilli and parsley- then pure heresy. Passata! Fish stock! White wine!
Ok, so it tasted great, tingly lips still.
It was different. Was it better, yeeeees. But did it have that elusive velvety vongole smoothness? No, the tastes overwhelmed the delicate flavours. It’s a draw.
I’d forgotten our lovely barber had said to add a drop of freshly squeezed lemon. Umm
Something for next time?
Do you know the secret to velvet smooth clam pasta? Tell all…
