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You’ll never look at store-bought pasta the same way again
How two chefs got stuck indoors and decided to change the pasta game
A brief – and brutally honest – history of pasta
Why making pasta by hand is a power move and how to not suck at it
The holy trinity of pasta mother doughs
A very biased guide to pasta shapes by dough type
How to not ruin everything you just made
Traditional recipes – just not like your nonna made them
Modern recipes – think Italian but jet-lagged
How to sauce up store-bought pasta, if you must



Straight outta Puglia, this combo is pure comfort. Bitter greens, juicy sausage, and chewy orecchiette that catch all the goodness. It’s the kind of dish that doesn’t ask, it tells you to sit down and eat.
420 g cime di rapa/rapini, cleaned and trimmed (~5 cups chopped/14.8 oz)
300 g fresh orecchiette (~2 cups/10.6 oz) (see page 49)
120 ml pasta cooking water (1/2 cup/4 oz), reserved
2 tbsp olive oil (~45 ml/1.5 oz)
2 garlic cloves, smashed
1 small chili pepper, or a pinch of flakes
250 g Italian sausage, skinned (~1 2/3 cup crumbled/8.8 oz)
salt to taste
optional: Pecorino to finish, if you’re feeling frisky
Prep the greens. Clean the rapini: remove tough stalks, keep the tender leaves and florets. Chop roughly. Don’t overthink it.
Blanch the greens like a boss. Boil in salted water for 3–5 minutes until tender but still green. Drain and squeeze out excess water. You don’t want swamp vibes in your sauce.
Boil your pasta. In a large pot of heavily salted water, cook the orecchiette until al dente. Save some pasta water before draining. Always.
Sauté the sausage. In a big-ass pan, heat 2 tbsp olive oil, add garlic and chili, then the sausage. Break the sausage up with a wooden spoon. Cook until golden and crisp in spots. This is not steamed sausage hour.
Add the greens. Toss in the blanched rapini and stir. Let it all vibe together for a couple minutes. If it looks dry? Splash in a bit of that reserved pasta water.
Unite the carb kingdom. Drain the pasta and toss it straight into the pan. Add a bit more pasta water and stir until everything’s glossy and gorgeous. NO cream, NO butter. Just emulsify with some elbow grease.
Plate it. Eat it. Serve immediately and ignore anyone who says “This would be nice with cream.” Top with grated pecorino if you want extra attitude.

2 people who know how to live dangerously (and deliciously).
One forkful of this zingy, spicy seaside in a bowl, and you’ll be hooked like a Sardinian fish. Line and sinker.
1 kg fresh clams, purged (~2 lb/8 cups in-shell)
2 tbsp olive oil (~30 ml/1 oz)
1 garlic clove, smashed
300 g fregula sarda (~1 ¾ cup/10.6 oz) (see page 48) hot water or light fish stock, to cook the fregula (~1 liter/4 cups/34 oz)
45 g ’nduja (~2 heaping tbsp/~1.7 oz) zest of 1 lemon
optional: white wine, a splash (~30 ml/1 oz); fresh parsley, chopped (~1 tbsp/3 g/0.1 oz) salt & black pepper, to taste
Clean the clams, no excuses. Rinse well, purge in salted water at least 30 minutes. Toss any open or broken ones. We love seafood, not salmonella.
Start with flavor. In a wide pan, heat olive oil and smash in that garlic clove. Add a splash of white wine (if using) and the clams. Cover and cook for 2–3 minutes until they pop open. Remove clams and strain the liquid – save it. It’s liquid gold.
Cook the fregula like risotto. In the same pan, toast the fregula for 1–2 minutes. Add the clam juice and hot water or fish stock one ladle at a time, stirring often. Cook gently for 8–10 minutes, until al dente and brothy-creamy. If it’s drying out, add more liquid. We want cozy, not crunchy.
Drop the ’nduja in. When the fregula is nearly ready, melt in the ‘nduja and stir. Let it perfume the whole thing – not dominate, just seduce.
Clams go back in. Add the cooked clams (in or out of shell; your aesthetic choice) and toss everything together. Taste for salt – between clams and ‘nduja, you may need zero.
Zest and bless. Finish with fresh lemon zest, a grind of black pepper, and chopped parsley if you’re that kind of person. Serve immediately. Spoon it. Slurp it. Fall in love.

Bologna in silk pajamas. Delicate pasta hugs mortadella, all dressed up in a silky cream sauce that feels like a warm hug… from a butcher. Pure mortadella glory.
120 g mortadella di Bologna, finely chopped (~¾ cup/4.2 oz)
100 g ricotta (~½ cup/3.5 oz)
30 g Parmigiano Reggiano, grated (~¼ cup/1 oz)
1 tbsp breadcrumbs (~8 g/0.3 oz)
Grating of nutmeg, to taste salt & pepper, optional (taste your mortadella – it’s already seasoned)
200 g fresh egg pasta, shaped into cappellacci (~1 ½ cups/7 oz) (see page 50)
450 ml heavy cream (~2 cups/15 oz)
45 g butter (~3 tbsp/1.5 oz)
optional: a crack of white pepper, tiny zest of lemon, or Parmigiano, finely grated
Make the filling. Finely chop the mortadella (by hand or pulse in a mixer – but don’t turn it into mush). Mix with ricotta, Parmigiano, breadcrumbs, nutmeg. Chill. It should taste like you want to eat it straight from the bowl with a spoon. Because you will.
Roll out the pasta & shape the cappellacci. As per the instructions on page 50. Cappellacci = big boi tortelloni folded with flair. Think “pasta origami but sexy”.
Cook the cappellacci al dente. In salted water for 4–5 minutes, or until done.
Reduce the cream sauce gently while the pasta cooks. Heat gently until just thickened and warm. No boiling, no separating, no drama. The sauce should coat the pasta, not drown it. Add a knob of butter, stir slowly.
Toss and serve. Drain cappellacci, toss in the cream sauce, plate with finesse. Optional finishing touch: a zest of lemon, some cracked white pepper or Parm dust. But honestly? They’re already perfect, just the way they are.

A Renaissance banger from Mantua. Pumpkin, crushed amaretti, and Parmigiano wrapped in golden pasta, served with butter and fresh sage. Sweet, savory, iconic.
200 g roasted pumpkin, mashed (~¾ cup/7 oz)
30 g grated Parmigiano Reggiano (~¼ cup/1 oz)
10–15 g amaretti cookies, crumbled (~1 tbsp/0.5 oz) grating of nutmeg, to taste
salt & pepper, to taste
200 g fresh egg pasta, shaped into fagottini (~1 ½ cups/7 oz) (see page 52)
100 g butter (~7.5 tbsp/3.5 oz)
6–8 fresh sage leaves
optional: Parmigiano Reggiano, to finish; crushed amaretti, for a crunchy twist
Prepare the filling. Use a dry, sweet pumpkin like Delica or Butternut. Roast it until soft and golden. Let it dry slightly (no one likes soggy fillings). Scoop it, mash it. Mix with Parmigiano, crushed amaretti, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. It should be sweet-salty-savory all in one mouthful. Chill it.
Roll out the pasta & shape the fagottini. As per the instructions on page 52. Cut into squares, dollop of filling in the center, fold diagonally, then pinch to make a pouch. Think: little parcels of emotional damage and fall flavors.
Cook the fagottini. Salted boiling water, for 4–5 minutes.
Make the sage butter. Melt butter in a pan, add sage leaves, let them crisp and infuse that nutty aroma. Take off the heat when golden, not burnt. (Burnt butter is not a vibe. Brown butter is.)
Drain pasta, toss in the sage butter, plate lovingly. Top with a dusting of Parmigiano and – if you’re feeling cheeky – a sprinkle of amaretti crumble.
Bruna’s Note
Pumpkin and amaretti? Sounds random, right? Wrong. Historical flex: this combo comes straight outta the Gonzaga court of Mantua, where the chefs weren’t just making food – they were composing edible symphonies. Back in the 1500s, when pumpkins from the New World started popping up in Italy, those sugar-loving aristocrats thought, “Let’s mix this veggie with cookies and see what happens.” And spoiler: it slapped. Add Parmigiano, nutmeg (which at the time cost more than gold), and BOOM, you’ve got a dish that tastes like baroque excess and holy indulgence. Still served today across Lombardy and Emilia-Romagna, especially during the holidays, because what says “Christmas spirit” better than buttery carbs and amaretti?
A Seoul-to-Puglia fever dream you didn’t know you needed. This dish was born in Seoul, at 2am, slightly drunk and dangerously inspired. We just translated it into pasta language. The truffle isn’t necessary, but it does scream “I’ve arrived”.
1 corn cob or 100 g frozen corn, charred (~¾ cup/3.5 oz)
80 g kimchi, chopped (~⅔ cup/2.8 oz)
1 tbsp butter or oil (~15 g/0.5 oz)
300 g orecchiette (~1 ⅓ cups/7 oz dry pasta) (see page 49)
100 g mozzarella, torn (~¾ cup/3.5 oz) a splash of pasta water salt and pepper, to taste black truffle, fresh or in flakes/shavings (~5–10 g/0.2–0.35 oz) optional: extra mozzarella or grated Parm, if you’re feeling it
Char the corn. If using a cob, grill it until it’s got nice burnt bits, then slice off the kernels. If using frozen, toast the kernels in a dry pan until browned.
Grab the kimchi. Sauté the kimchi and corn in a bit of butter or oil for 2–3 minutes, until hot and vibey.
Boil the orecchiette in salted water until al dente. Save a splash of cooking water.
Mix it all. Toss the drained pasta with the kimchi + corn mixture. Add the mozzarella, let it melt slightly. Loosen with pasta water as needed. Season to taste.
Top with truffle. Optional, but let’s be honest: encouraged. Serve warm and smug.

Italian shape. Venezuelan soul. Dripping in deep, dark glory. The filling is the real deal: slow-cooked and caramelized until dark, rich, and pull-apart soft. If your tortellini don’t come out looking like velvet-covered grenades, go back and do it again.
400 g beef eye of round or chuck (~14 oz)
salt and black pepper
3 tbsp oil (~45 ml/1.5 oz)
2 tbsp dark brown sugar (~25 g/0.9 oz)
1 large onion, chopped
1 small carrot, chopped
2 garlic cloves, smashed
100 ml red wine (~⅖ cup/3.4 oz)
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar (~15 ml/0.5 oz)
300 ml beef stock (~1¼ cups/10 oz)
1 bay leaf
180 g fresh egg pasta dough, shaped into small tortellini (see page 57)
Rub beef with salt and pepper. Sear it in oil until browned on all sides. Remove and set aside.
In same pan: liquify brown sugar gently. Put the beef back in until caramelized, then remove again and set aside. Add onions, carrot, and garlic to the pan. Deglaze with red wine and vinegar. Let it reduce.
Add stock, bay leaf, and return the meat to the pan. Cover and simmer 2–2½ hours until it shreds easily. Remove meat, reduce sauce until thick + glossy.
Shred meat finely. Mix with a spoon or two of reduced sauce until creamy but not wet. Let cool before stuffing.
Fill and seal tortellini. As per the instructions on page 57. Use about ½ tsp per piece. Cook tortellini in salted water until al dente.
Meanwhile, reheat a few tablespoons of the reduced asado sauce in a pan. Toss cooked tortellini in the sauce just to coat, not drown.
Serve with nothing else. This sauce is the moment.

What if Thailand and Italy had a delicious one-night stand? This is unapologetically untraditional.
½ onion, diced (~50 g/⅓ cup/1.75 oz)
2 red bell peppers, diced (~320 g/2 cups/20.6 oz)
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tbsp olive oil (~15 ml/0.5 oz)
salt and pepper, to taste
optional: 1 tsp tomato paste for umami kick
optional: breadcrumbs, to thicken
1 tsp Thai red curry paste (~5 g/0.17 oz)
1 tsp olive oil
100 ml coconut milk (~½ cup/3.4 oz)
200 g fresh egg dough, shaped into cappellacci (see page 50)
1 small red chili, sliced (~5 g/0.17 oz)
1 tbsp thinly sliced spring onion (~4 g/0.15 oz)
optional: lime zest or fresh herbs if you feel bougie
Make the bell pepper filling. This is a classic, roasted veg bomb. Season the diced bell pepper and onion with olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. Add some tomato paste for an umami kick. Roast in an ovenproof dish, covered, at 180°C/356°F until fully cooked through. Cool and blend/pulse lightly – you want a scoopable, chunky-ish texture. Add some bread crumbs if it feels too liquid.
Make the red curry sauce. Sauté curry paste in olive oil for 30 seconds. Add coconut milk and simmer for 5–6 minutes until slightly thickened. Season gently; you want balance, not an assault.
Assemble. Fill cappellacci with cooled bell pepper filling. Cook in boiling salted water until al dente. Toss gently in warm red curry sauce. Plate and top with chili and spring onion.
Tip: the more the merrier. Got a stray zucchini, a rogue eggplant, or a lone onion crying in the fridge? Throw them in. This filling plays well with almost any roasted veg. Just don’t make it too wet or your cappellacci will get the ick.
Use the Damn Curry Paste
Could you make your own red curry paste from scratch with galangal, lemongrass, shrimp paste, and your will to live, finely minced? Sure. Should you? Only if you have time, mood, and a spice grinder. For everyone else: store-bought red curry paste slaps. Just get a decent one, read the label (no weird stuff), and sauté it in oil like a real pro.

This is what happens when your pasta wants to wear a beret and talk about philosophy. Caramelle stuffed with caramelized onion and ricotta, served in onion broth with truffle. A pasta tribute to the OG Lyonnais comfort soup, via Paul Bocuse. We kept the heart but ditched the hat.
150 g yellow onions, thinly sliced (~1 cup/5.3 oz)
1 tsp olive oil + 1 tsp butter
a pinch of salt and sugar
100 g ricotta (~½ cup/3.5 oz)
nutmeg and black pepper, to taste
1 tbsp grated Parmigiano (~7 g/0.25 oz)
100 g Gruyère (~½ cup/3.5 oz)
300 g yellow onions, sliced (~2 cups/10.5 oz)
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp flour (~3 g/0.1 oz)
optional: splash of white wine (~30 ml/1 oz)
500 ml beef or rich vegetable broth (~2 cups/17 oz)
200 g fresh egg dough, shaped into caramelle (see page 52)
salt and black pepper, to taste
4–5 thin slices of black truffle (fresh or preserved)
optional: a drop of truffle oil if you’re poor but ambitious
Make the sweet onion ricotta filling. Caramelize the onions low and slow in oil and butter, with salt and a touch of sugar – at least 30 minutes until golden, jammy, almost spreadable. Cool and mix with ricotta, nutmeg, pepper, Parmigiano, and Gruyère. Taste. We want French pâté energy, but fluffier. Velvety, savory, nostalgic, and just rich enough.
Make the onion broth, Bocuse‑style. Inspired by the absolute king – Paul Bocuse – but with less Gruyère and no bread hat. Sauté onions in olive oil for 20–25 minutes until dark and collapsed. Add flour, stir until it disappears. Deglaze with wine (if using). Add broth and simmer 15–20 minutes until rich and robust. Strain if you’re feeling fancy, or leave rustic.
Assemble. Pipe filling into caramelle and twist them closed like tiny tootsie rolls. Cook in salted water for 3–4 minutes.
Plate. Warm up the onion broth, ladle into shallow bowls. Add caramelle gently. Top with truffle slices and a soft rain of black pepper.
