Recipe below: Scialatielli with Clams, ’Nduja, Pernod, and Basil
I often walk over to Buon’Italia in the Chelsea market just to look around, not needing anything but wanting something to bring into my kitchen when too many non-Italian ingredients like miso, or chili crunch, garam masala, or grainy mustard start to invade my workspace. When jagged effects intrude (too much soy, too much cumin, too much lime), even if I love the tastes I can get irritable or just messed up. Recently I sensed I needed a drizzle of colatura to fix a gemelli with escarole and almonds that fell flat even after adding anchovies, but to my surprise I didn’t have any colatura. How did that happen? All I had was a bottle of Red Boat Vietnamese fish sauce, which of course is similar but not the same. I added a little, drop by drop, knowing it was stronger and had a different undertaste from colatura. After a few drops I realized I had ruined the dish by complicating it with unclear thinking.
When I most recently went over to Buon’Italia, I actually did need something. I needed colatura, which I bought. I also picked up a big wedge of caciocavallo, which is strangely hard to find even in New York. I grabbed Sicilian salt-packed capers, two bags of squid ink fusilli, some sheep milk ricotta, a jar of bluefin tuna packed in olive oil, amaretti cookies, a can of pomodorini, a bag fennel taralli, a bag of Scialatielle pasta made by the Neapolitan company Setaro, and, since I couldn’t resist, a deep red, bloody-looking hunk of Buon’Italia’s mushy, fatty ’nduja. I figured the haul should set my kitchen straight.
Buon’Italia sells good ’nduja, but as most of my Italian cooking friends know, real Calabrian ’nduja is still not available here. You can get an imported loose, pasteurized ’nduja product in a jar. I’ve tried the Tutto Calabria one pictured in the advertising poster above. ’Nduja light. Not worth it. I’d rather buy a good American-made one. So that’s what I got at Buon’Italia. It’s made somewhere in Queens. It’s got a flavor reminiscent of the ones I sampled in Calabria, where the soft, spicy sausage was invented, and has no weird added flavors, such as oregano or garlic. Just pure pork fat and Calabrian heat. I also like the version made by Salumeria Biellese, here in New York. Unlike when I first began searching out the American-made stuff, about ten years ago, now I find lots of good versions made all over our country. Have any of you tried the Tempesta brand? I haven’t yet. If you’ve discovered one you particularly like, please let me know. I’m starting to collect them.
With my Queens-made Buon’Italia ’nduja, I decided to prepare a pasta featuring the littleneck clams I buy from a Long Island fish guy who sells at the Union Square market. Spicy pork sausage and shellfish are an excellent match, as Spanish and Italian cooks discovered ages ago. I loved adding only fennel flavors and basil to pull it all together.
And in case you’re not familiar with scialatielli, it’s a thick, chewy, slightly stubbier tagliatelle-like cut popular on the Amalfi Coast and throughout Campania and used mainly for seafood sauces. When it’s made fresh, basil and Parmigiano are often worked into the dough. Dried versions usually don’t have those flavors, but even without them its chewiness is really appealing.
Scialatielli with Clams, ’Nduja, Pernod, and Basil
3 dozen medium to small clams (I used Long Island littlenecks from my Greenmarket), well cleaned
1 small glass dry white wine
Salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound scialatielli or tagliatelle
1 large shallot, finely chopped
1 teaspoon freshly ground fennel seed
About 2 heaping tablespoons ’nduja, depending on how much heat you like and how hot the stuff you’ve got is
1 35-ounce can Italian plum tomatoes without purée, chopped
A splash of Pernod or another pastis
A handful of nice-looking basil leaves, lightly chopped
Put the clams in a large pot, and pour on the wine. Turn the flame to high. When the wine starts to boil, stir the clams around a little, and cover the pot to get some steam going. After a minute or so, uncover the pot, and stir the clams a little more. This is so they cook evenly. Have a large bowl ready near the stove. As the clams start to open, pull out each one with tongs, and stick it in the bowl. The thing about clams, unlike mussels, is that they don’t all open at the same time. I know this step seems tedious, but if you wait for them all to open, the early openers will get way overcooked. When all the clams are open, drizzle a little olive oil over them. Pour the clam cooking liquid through a fine strainer into a bowl (this is to remove any sand).
Set up a pot of pasta cooking water, and bring it to a boil. Add salt, and drop in the scialatielli.
Get out a large sauté pan, and set it over medium heat. Drizzle in a little olive oil. Add the shallot and the fennel seed, and sauté until fragrant, about two minutes. Add the ’nduja, and stir it around until it melts into a red puddle. Add the clam cooking juice and the tomatoes. Let cook at a gentle bubble for about 5 minutes. Add the Pernod. Taste the sauce, adding a little more ’nduja if you want more oomph. Add the clams to the pan, and stir them around to gently reheat them.
When the scialatielli is al dente, drain it, and pour it into a large, wide serving bowl. Drizzle on a little fresh olive oil, and toss lightly. Pour on the clam sauce, and add the basil, giving everything another toss. Taste for salt. You may or may not need any, depending on and how salty your clams are. Serve right away.