Recipe below: Fusilli Lunghi with Clams, Pancetta, and Sweet Pimentón
I recently got back from a trip to Andalusian Spain, where I went partly to look into the life of Federico Garcia Lorca but also to eat a lot of ham and seafood.
The jamón was excellent. It’s on every menu. You find those big legs hanging in almost all the food stores, along with ropes of dark red morcilla, the blood sausage I’m also crazy about. After a few days of eating lots of cured pork products, I went into ham fat overload. The stuff is rich. But I didn’t get sick of seafood, especially shellfish. Southern Spanish cooks have a way with clams, usually involving garlic, olive oil, and sherry. The clams are simply opened over a high flame, their juices mixing with the sherry and everything else, and then quickly brought to the table, often sprinkled with pimentón, either sweet or hot. I love the dish.
I have a long history with clams, mainly because my father was in love with them. He dug for them with his buddies on the Glen Cove beach in all sorts of weather. He steamed them in a big black pot that had a spigot at the bottom for the delicious hot juice to pour out of, to drink straight or mixed with vodka. Clams raw, on the half shell, served with cocktail sauce, were a big Italian American thing in the sixties and seventies, a mandatory appetizer before a ribeye at Manero’s Steakhouse in Roslyn, where we’d go for birthdays and such. Back then clams were a man’s game, like cigars, but I was into the sport, all of it—digging, cooking, and eating them, and even cleaning up. I loved hearing the clink of many empty clam shells as I dropped them into the garbage can.
Clams still mean Christmas Eve to me. My mother almost always cooked some form of them with pasta every year. I now do the same, alternating red and white versions, sometimes adding a splash of Pernod or cognac, and mixing up the herbs. I like rosemary with clams, but basil often wins out. I often also throw a plate of baked clams into the seafood mix, lately with a Sicilian or pistachio pesto on top.
Since I’m still in a post-travel Spanish food head, this Christmas Eve I may go with this fusilli lunghi with clams, dry sherry, and sweet pimenton. It’s a really fragrant dish. I added pancetta to it. If you’re a stickler for Catholic tradition, you can leave out the meat, or make it for New Year’s.
I love fusilli lunghi. It’s a little slippery to get into your mouth, but that’s half the fun. The one I buy is made by Setaro, an excellent Neapolitan company. For a neater eating experience, you can certainly go with spaghetti instead. In any case, Buonitalia offers a huge assortment of Setaro pasta shapes. Anything you can imagine, and some really big ones like their giant lumaconi, paccheri, and candele lunghe. Their bucatini is also excellent.
For this pasta I used a mild pimentón del la Vera. You can use a hot one if you prefer. I like the La Dalia brand. This dried chili is used often in Southern Spanish dishes, on poached octopus, on potatoes, and sprinkled over many fish-type tapas. I kind of got addicted to it, but it can overpower you with smoke if you let it. And the Spanish sometimes let it. I try to use it sparingly.
Happy Christmas cooking to you all.
Fusilli Lunghi with Clams, Pancetta, and Sweet Pimentón
Salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 ¼-inch-thick round of pancetta, cut into small dice
1 large shallot, cut into small dice
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
6 large thyme sprigs, the leaves lightly chopped
3 pounds Manila clams, well scrubbed
A small glass of dry sherry
1 pound fusilli lunghi or another long pasta
The juice and grated zest from 1 large lemon
1/2 teaspoon sweet pimentón
A big handful of basil leaves, lightly chopped
Set up a pot of well-salted pasta cooking water over high heat.
Get out a pot big enough to hold all the clams once they’ve opened. Set it over medium heat. Add about ¼ cup of olive oil. When it’s hot, add the pancetta, cooking it until just crisp. Add the shallot, and let it soften. Add the garlic and the thyme, and sauté for a few minutes to open up their flavors. Add the clams and the sherry, cover the pot, and let them heat through, stirring them around occasionally so they cook evenly.
Drop the pasta into the boiling water.
The clams should start opening in about 5 minutes. I find that Manila clams tend to all open at pretty much the same time. Once they’ve opened, turn off the heat, so they don’t overcook. Add the lemon juice and zest and the pimentón.
When the pasta is al dente, drain it, leaving a bit of water clinging to it, and tip it into a large serving bowl. Drizzle it with a bit of olive oil, and give it a quick toss. Add the clam sauce and the basil, tossing well. Taste for salt—you may or may not want to add some, depending on how salty your clams are. Serve right away.