As a child I used to believe that spaghetti grew on trees
and that Marco Polo brought it to Italy
from China .
As we drove through the Italian countryside during our summer holidays, I
remember the excitement in the backseat as my brother, sister and I searched
for the first sighting of the supposedly ubiquitous spaghetti tree. My father,
something of a practical joker, had something I’m sure to do with perpetuating
the myth. I had visions of playing beneath a chandelier of spaghetti as my
mother picked the choicest strands and threw them directly into a pot of
boiling water. For obvious reasons, the proverbial tree proved illusive - we
had to settle for olive groves - but it was great fun nonetheless!
The fact is, no one can say for certain where spaghetti
originated or how long a history it has (maybe
it does grow on trees!). Children today are more food savvy. My eldest son
Massimo, who’s 8 now, knew almost immediately that I was pulling his leg when I
resurrected the myth on a drive down to Naples
last summer. He said: “Daddy you’re joking, right? Spaghetti doesn’t grow on
trees, it comes from Barilla”. From the corner of my eye I did, however, catch
my younger son Giuliano, sneaking an exploratory peek out the window.
Of course, the popular myth that Marco Polo brought it home
from his travels was debunked many years ago (at about the same time someone
also discounted the notion that it grows on trees). Since then, theories
have abounded but the fact is that no one knows how long the history of
spaghetti spans. Its origins are intertwined with the history of pasta which is
lost in time. Part of the problem is one of terminology. The word ‘spaghetti’,
if not the product, is of relatively recent origin. It was only in the early
1800s that it came into popular usage. The word most used in the Middle Ages,
in generic fashion for all forms of pasta, was maccheroni – spelt in as many different ways probably as it was
cooked. The earliest record found thus far of the word spaghetti is in a
dictionary of Italian dialect, coincidentally here in my home province of Piacenza ,
which was published in 1836. It wasn’t until 10 years later, in 1846, that the
word spaghetti was first recorded in a mainstream dictionary, where it was
equated with vermicelli. Even today, in parts of Italy , particularly in the south,
the words vermicelli and spaghetti are used to describe the same thing.
Myths, origins and etymological considerations aside,
spaghetti as a staple of the masses didn’t become popular until the latter part
of the 19th century. Its rise coincided with the introduction of the
extrusion press and subsequent technological developments which simplified the
laborious process of producing the long thin strands. Today some estimates
suggest that spaghetti accounts for something in the region of two-thirds of
the world’s consumption of pasta. Dishes such as spaghetti alla carbonara, spaghetti
alle vongole (spaghetti with clams), spaghetti
al pomodoro (spaghetti with tomto sauce), spaghetti, aglio, olio e peperoncino (spaghetti with garlic, oil
and chilli peppers) have gained world renown and come to symbolise a nation, a
people and its food.
As for myself, I’m going to go out and pick some spaghetti
for lunch – I’ll take a look under the tree in the garden and if that fails, I
suppose I’ll go to the shops.
Spaghetti with
garlic, olive oil and chilli pepper
Spaghetti, aglio, olio e peperoncino
Serves 4
Preparation
time: 5 minutes
Cooking time: 10
minutes
320g spaghetti
2 cloves garlic (or more, to taste)
1 fresh chilli or 1 tsp dried chilli flakes (again, more or
less to taste)
6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
A handful chopped fresh parsley
Place the oil in a deep-sided frying pan. Heat gently and
add the garlic finely sliced and the chopped chilli. Allow it to warm through and
infuse very gently until the pasta is cooked. Bring a large pot of salted water
to the boil and add the spaghetti. Cook until just al dente. Drain the pasta and throw it into the frying pan. Turn up
the heat for just a few seconds while you thoroughly toss the pasta. Sprinkle
over freshly chopped parsley and serve immediately.
Is sending a child spaghetti tree hunting in Italy like sending a child snipe hunting here in the States? : )
ReplyDeleteAnd just a quick language question: When you write 'spaghetti, aglio, olio e peperoncino', why don't you add the con? I would have said 'spaghetti con aglio, olio e peperocino.' Am I doing it wrong?
Snipe hunting's a wild goose chase Paula. I'd like to think there is a spaghetti tree out there somewhere! :)
DeleteAs for the recipe name, here in Italy it's such an iconic dish that we omit the 'con'. However, written in English, it does often come with the 'with'. But there's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you are saying it Paula!
That's cute Mario - the spaghetti tree.I love this recipe too, so simple, yet so tasty.
ReplyDeleteNext time you are in the garden centre Cathy, make sure to ask for one - they need a sunny disposition and start bearing fruit after a couple of years.
DeleteNext time you pass the Barilla factory off the A1 in Parma, tell Massimo why the factory is so long. They can only extract one extremely long spago at a time. When it dries, they chop it up and pack it into the box you buy in the store.
ReplyDeletePS Dad, good story.
That's a great one... I absolutely love it. I will remember that one next time I pass by it!!!
ReplyDeleteBy far always my favorite! Your photo is delicious and inticing of this pasta classic!
ReplyDeleteI love pasta. Great recipe and photos.
ReplyDeleteThanks Christine and Pegasus, so pleased you liked the post!
ReplyDeleteLove this story! I'm pretty sure the spaghetti tree grows in the same soil as the money tree and in that case they are both in my Grandmother 's back garden!
ReplyDelete