Craving a carbonara

It’s funny that I (being half Pedi, half Xhosa) crave a carbonara. Where in my heritage does this exist? Where in the mix of umngqusho and pap did I get a craving for a carbonara, not from a restaurant, but my own, made at home by me?

I don’t eat pork, but bacon is a food group of its own. I’m also a purist, that’s why it’s tennis all the way and no padel in my books. But back to the bacon. Once I heard you use guanciale in carbonara, I had to get my hands on it. Also, how great a name is that, guanciale? So wonderfully onomatopoeic.

When I was at my local cheese shop sampling the only kinds of cheese I eat — mainly of the sheep’s milk variety and no cow’s milk — I came across Zidadu, a delicious and fruity type of pecorino. The man who runs my local cheese shop told me almost conspiratorially that he had guanciale. How he knew that I knew what he was talking about, and that I wanted it, is beyond me.

My introduction to carbonara is an interesting story. It was in the waiting room of my family doctor. A rather convivial space where the healing begins before you are seen. Our family physician is Italian. How do you know when someone is Italian? They’ll often tell you and chat about food. The doctor’s wonderful wife, who is of Afrikaans heritage and has the healthiest, thickest hair you’ve ever laid eyes on, said she was throwing together a quick carbonara for dinner. I thought this Roman dish was super complex and required the skills of a nonna or two in one’s heritage to crack. How could it be a quick dinner? She explained the steps, and I think I got it close to right on the first try.

While my first few did have a light scramble on the edges, the trick I learnt was not to combine the pasta in the pan. Also mix egg yolks and Parmigiano separately with a good sprinkle of pepper. Leave the garlic out of the dish. It’s pared down in terms of ingredients but delivers heavily on flavour.

As far as comfort meals go, this is top tier. Hug from the inside and a bit of a personal high five when you look at the ultimate silkiness of the sauce when you get it right around the pasta. The smell of guanciale cooking, rendering in its own fat, is enough to make this dish a hit. Please try it. Make it, dinner for one, because we all deserve nice things.

Ingredients: Carbonara (for one serving)

• 90g guanciale
• 1 x egg yolk (save the white for an omelette the next day)
• 1 x large egg
• 60g Parmigiano reggiano cheese (grating your own is preferable or you can swap with a pecorino if you cannot get this cheese)
• ¼ teaspoon of white pepper (I find this has a more peppery flavour)
• 250g spaghetti
• 2 x tsp salt for the pasta cooking water
• ¼ cup of pasta cooking water

Method:

• Cut the guanciale into batons. Make sure they’re thickish so they’re substantial went cooked, like little matchsticks.
• Place the chopped guanciale into a pan on medium heat and cook until nicely browned on all sides in its own fat.
• Bring a pot of water and salt to the boil and add the spaghetti.
• Place the egg and egg yolk into a large bowl and whisk together with the Parmigiano and pepper.
• Reserve about half a cup of pasta water from the cooked pasta.
• Once the pasta is cooked, drain and toss the pasta into the pan with the guanciale and toss through well so the pasta is well coated with the fat from the rendered guanciale.
• Remove from the heat and transfer the pasta to the bowl with the egg, yolks and cheese and coat the pasta in the sauce, stirring fairly swiftly and pouring in a little pasta water at a time until well coated and the pasta takes on a golden, creamy colour.
• Heat your bowls and serve your carbonara immediately in a warm bowl. Perhaps a final grind of black pepper just before serving.

The dish is to be savoured and devoured warm. That last step of warming your bowl is a luxury you deserve.

Wanted