Homemade pasta (fresh tagliatelle)

Damn. Homemade pasta is not for people with weak arms. I mean, if you're not me and have a pasta press or some fancy KitchenAid with a pasta-making attachment, I bet pasta-making is a delight. However, I only get new kitchen implements when people (re: my brother) decide to buy them for me. Don't get me wrong--I would love a pasta maker/chitarra/KitchenAid with attachment. I just have other things higher up on my list, like feeding my dog, maintaining a Netflix account, and not being crushed under the weight of student loans.

Whinging aside, here's how you make pasta the old school, put-your-back-into-it-girl way.

I found it kind of soothing, making something that kept my hands crazy busy and my mind just busy enough that I couldn't think complex, dark, twisty thoughts. I'm not prone to dark, twisty thoughts 95% of the time, but being post-grad school and pre-job is bound to make anyone a little....gloomily pensive. Working with my hands clears my head. By pushing things around on the counter, it's like I can push things around in my mind, organizing them for later.

I'd made pasta once before, but this was definitely my most successful try. I used Mario Batali's recipe for tagliatelle. I even watched the segment he did with Martha Stewart. Let me tell you, they couldn't possibly have made their dough come together as quickly as it looks like they did. There's just no way they kneaded their dough for five minutes and it was ready to roll. I get it though. For the purposes of television, they had pre-made pasta dough and only showed us the easy bits.

Tagliatelle is a delicious egg noodle that's rolled out and cut into thin strips. Like freeform fettuccine. You start with a mound of flour with a little salt mixed in. Make a well (but not so deep that you can see the counter) and crack five eggs in the well.

Now, the wheels fell off the wagon for me right after this picture was taken. You're supposed to use a fork to slowly incorporate the flour on the sides of the well into the eggs, not breaking the well and allowing egg to travel hither and yon. I tried to slowly incorporate the flour, but the eggs broke through the flour barrier immediately and I scrambled to save the eggs and mix them into the flour as fast as possible.

It wasn't pretty and I almost, almost gave up. But then I wouldn't have had anything worthy as a vehicle for my amazing bolognese sauce (recipe forthcoming!). So, onward. I used my hands to gather the flour and eggy bits together, kneading and kneading and kneading. It took at least 30 minutes before I thought my dough was even close to being done. All the food blogs talked about the dough getting shiny, but mine never seemed to reach that stage.

I finally got tired though. Half an hour of kneading by hand was enough to make me say, "Good enough." And you know what? It was.

I wrapped the dough in plastic wrap and let it rest for about 30-40 minutes. Resting is a critical component to the pasta making process, which was fine with me, because I was able to check on my bolognese, take Buster out to run around, and check my email.

Buster's always ready to go outside to run around.
If nervous, boundless energy were embodied, it would be this guy.

When the dough and I had rested, I cut it into four equal portions, laid a barely damp paper towel on three portions and placed the remaining one on a well-floured surface.

Then the real work began. Using my trusty (also well-floured) rolling pin, I began working the dough, attempting to roll it out into a beautiful, neat round of thin, eggy delight. It ended up looking like a fish, Nemo-style.

In fact, all four of the sections I rolled out ended up looking like this. My pasta rolling technique needs work.

This took longer than I thought it would. I just couldn't get it thin enough. I think I worked on each section for about 15 minutes a piece. Once the dough was thin enough, I rolled it up (like a cake roll) and cut it into thin strips.

I made sure the counter, the rolling pin, my hands, and the pasta were covered in flour. Then, I kept going. I rolled and rolled and rolled.

Until, blessedly, I was done. I think I spent 2-3 hours making pasta. But, danged if it wasn't extra delicious. You only have to cook fresh pasta for about half the time it takes for dried pasta. I think I only boiled my pasta for about 5-6 minutes (which might seem long, but my pasta was thicker than normal dried pasta).

It was so, so good with my bolognese sauce. I could eat bolognese and fresh tagliatelle every Sunday and not be unhappy. That is, if I didn't have to make the pasta myself every time.

The sauce was rich, hearty, meaty goodness and the tagliatelle was eggy and al dente and sopped up the sauce like a dream. It was one of the best meals I've ever fixed, I think, but I love Italian food and am prone to bias. I might try semolina flour next time, just because people seem to make such a fuss over using it to make pasta.

If you'd like to work on your grip strength and exercise your forearms, try making pasta for yourself. And if you have some dark, twisty thoughts you want to escape from for a couple hours, that's also a reason to try out making fresh pasta.

DISCLAIMER: Honestly, I don't know how helpful my recipe is, compared to the multitude you an find online. I did want to document it though, just because it took me so friggin' long.


Fresh tagliatelle
(makes a little over one pound of pasta)
from Mario Batali via Martha Stewart

Flour a large, clean counter. Stir 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour and 1/2 tsp salt together and then place in a mound on the counter. Form a well in the flour, but not deep enough to break through the flour to the counter. Crack 5 large eggs in the well. Using a fork, slowly incorporate the flour along the edges of the well into the eggs. Keep stirring until the dough coheres and you can roll it into a ball. Flour your hands. Knead the pasta dough for 20-30 minutes, until the dough is not sticky. Cover in plastic wrap and let it rest at room temperature for 30-40 minutes.

Divide the dough into four sections, placing a kitchen towel or barely damp paper towel over three  sections. On a well-floured surface, place the fourth section of dough. Use a floured rolling pin to roll out the dough to a desired level of thinness. If the dough shrinks after you roll it out, let it rest for a little bit before you continue. Roll the dough up, cake roll style, and cut the pasta into thin strips.

Use the pasta immediately, or look at the links below to see how to dry it and store it.

The Kitchn
Phaidon
Coquinaria