How many people does it take to turn a frittata di pasta? Here, at the moment, two. We discuss (argue) about when exactly, and whether a pan lid or a plate is better for inverting, and which of us used a pan scrub on the nonstick pan. It wasn’t me. Lockdown has concentrated everything, reduced our stocks and patience. It has also concentrated the importance of leftovers, or, as a friend calls them, “leave-that-alone-don’t-eat-it-it-is-for-tomorrow’s-lunch”.
With most frittate – potato, asparagus, onion, bottom-of-the-fridge – the ingredients are held together by the egg. With a frittata di pasta, it is the other way round: the egg is held by the pasta. That isn’t to say that the eggs in frittata di pasta aren’t glue – they are, adhering to the strands of spaghetti like mud in a bird’s nest, but without encasing the whole thing. This means that, instead of a heavy yellow frame, the edges are made by the curves of spaghetti which, like snags in a sweater, poke and stick out, toasting as the frittata fries – which is the other difference: while most frittate are soft, frittata di pasta (at least the way we like it) is firmer, bronzed and has toasted edges.
Luciano Pignataro has an entire chapter on frittate di pasta in his book about Neapolitan food. The chapter begins with an essay defending leftover pasta by Bruno Macrì which includes the sort of detail that only an etymologist who loves fried pasta could write, the smells and flavours of a Neapolitan kitchen spluttering off the page like oil out of a pan. Macrì explains how frittata can be made with any leftover pasta and with any sauce – from the simplest to the most enriched and fancy – and cooked in two ways.
The first way is with no additions: you simply take your leftover spaghetti (let’s say ours is with tomato sauce) and put it into a nonstick pan in which you have heated a little oil, press it down and fry until “arrustacata, ben rosolata e croccante, bruciacchiata” – “well browned and crunchy, scorched”. His description of a seafood pasta arruscata is even better: he heats the leftover pasta first, tossing it around and adding a spoonful of grated pecorino before he presses it into the pan, so the pasta takes on colour and the seafood (I am imagining a fat mussel here) catches and caramelises. This note reminds me of cooking with chef Jeremy Lee, him daring me to fry the rabbit longer, fry the courgette in batter deeper, reminding me that a catching is very often the way to catch flavour, which in turn catches the eater.
The second way to make frittata di pasta is to mix the leftover pasta with egg and grated cheese. If you have saved unsauced pasta, you need to be even more diligent with seasoning here.
Whereas soft frittate go well with a crisp salad, frittata di pasta with toasted edges demands the opposite: a salad made with floppy eared butterhead lettuce, for example, two of which I have in the fridge. I like a French dressing with a soft green salad: six tablespoons of olive oil, one of vinegar, and one of dijon, shaken in a jar until it is cloudy yellow. Vincenzo likes oil and lemon. Something to “discuss” later.
Frittata di pasta
Prep 5 min
Cook 10 min
Serves 2
200g day-old, cold spaghetti (plain or with tomato sauce)
3 eggs
3 tbsp grated parmesan or pecorino
Salt and black pepper
3 tbsp diced mozzarella or other melting cheese (optional)
Butter and oil, for frying
Break the eggs into a bowl and whisk. Add the cheese, salt and plenty of pepper, and whisk again. Add the spaghetti and cubed cheese, and stir until the pasta is well coated with egg.
Heat a little olive oil and butter over a medium-high flame, until the butter is foaming, tip the mixture into the pan and fry, stirring, for minute.
Press down on the mixture to even it out in the pan, turn down the heat to medium and leave to cook for two minutes, then use a plate to invert the frittata and fry on the other side until golden.
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