The Perseverance series explores pastas that arose in a context of dearth. I think of them metaphorically as sprigs, courageously breaking through the pavement, thriving by sheer force of will.
Like the other pastas presented in this series - cordelle calabresi, suddhi, and struncatura - mischiglio makes use of flours other than gold-standard refined wheat, integrating alternatives derived from cheaper, hardier, albeit lower gluten crops. Despite our rose-tinted retrovision of la cucina povera, these fillers were compensatory, stopgap measures born of necessity, not gastronomic preference.
While the ingredients for these pastas may reflect hardship, the purposeful intention to craft the dough into customary forms signals a spirit of determination. It surpasses subsistence and aims toward the higher purpose of maintaining culinary culture.
Hunger could have been quelled in equal measure had the same ingredients been thrown together in a pap. Indeed, far less labor, time and attention might have been expended if the goal had been merely to fill the belly. In the realm of pasta, whenever authoritative hands engage in the act of shaping forms from dough, the intention is to provide comfort through the familiarity of traditional foodways. This is particularly relevant in adverse conditions. The determination to make pasta from whatever resources were available is a significant social gesture, whose purpose is not only to feed the family, but to reinforce communal bonds.
Pasta doughs with a low-gluten content require an even higher level of know-how and dexterity to replicate familiar shapes. They are not nearly as smooth and elastic, acquiescing neither to the will of the artisan nor to the rigors of cooking. As such, the drive to forge onward is all the more noteworthy. It openly declares that while resources may be lacking, the culinary values that underlie group identity and foster a sense of belonging are paramount or - to borrow a line from Shakespeare - they are “an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is not shaken.”
A widow I met in my travels through Castronuovo di Sant’Andrea, Basilicata
What is mischiglio?
Mischiglio (mis-KEEL-yo) is a pasta that hails from Basilicata and can be traced in documents dating back to the Renaissance. It is what we might call a reliance pasta insofar as barley, chickpea and fava bean flours were relied on to bulk out a modicum of durum wheat semolina. The word mischiglio itself is a variant of the Italian miscuglio, meaning an odd mix of stuff. As semolina was more expensive, just enough was used to achieve a pasta worthy of that label. Without semolina, however, the dough would not have been shapable nor would it have held together while cooking.
Given the high percentage of low-gluten flours, it is not possible to achieve the desired satiny-smooth surface that otherwise results from kneading. Lacking in elasticity, shaping requires more time, patience and a steady hand. Although mischigli (plural) are in the stracinati family of pastas - those formed by applying pressure and dragging them across the pasta board - they cannot be fired one after the other from a deft hand, as seasoned experts do with cavatelli and orecchiette.
Disappearance and reemergence
Economic recovery in post WWII was slow to come to Basilicata, historically one of the most destitute regions of Italy. During the so-called “economic miracle” that took off in the 1960s, reliance pastas like mischiglio were cast off as painful reminders of hunger and indigence, remnants of a past they were eager to forget. But as time passes, acute memories abate and those with firsthand experience fade into the shadows. Recently, enterprising entrepreneurs have been attempting to revive some of these former foodways, transforming them into badges of pride and symbols of resilience. In misciglio, the happenstance combination of legumes and grains, all wrapped up in one pasta, is now peddled as the pinnacle of the Mediterranean Diet.
There is a seemingly inexhaustible trend in Italy today to reframe erstwhile stopgap measures born of destitution (aka la cucina povera) into marketable timeless traditions. But lest I let my cynical slip show too much, I will concede that mischiglio is worth a try. It is tasty, nutritious, and the recipe that follows carries the distinct flavors of Basilicata, a cuisine that is overlooked in the panoply of Italian culinary traditions.
If you just want to get an idea, dip your feet in, as it were, mischiglio can be purchased dried and packaged online.
But my role here is to proselytize, to encourage you to roll up your sleeves and interact with culinary history. Making the dough and shaping it yourself sheds light on the depth of persistence and perseverance it took to perpetuate these foodways under conditions of duress. Eating historical dishes informs us through sensations where we are in relation to where we have been, adding another dimension to the enjoyment (or not) of the dish.
Peperone crusco - the pride of Basilicata
Peperone crusco - traditional dried sweet peppers
Besides the pasta itself, the most characteristic ingredient in the Lucanian (the adjective for Basilicata) pasta recipe below is the dried sweet red pepper called peperone crusco. Vertical garlands of them are a common sight in alcoves and on balconies throughout Basilicata - but particularly in the town Senise in the province of Potenza, where the local variety and terroir conditions are considered optimal. When they have been prepped and flash fried they become crisp and can be enjoyed straight as a crispy treat, or crumbled onto dishes of vegetables, legumes, or pasta.
Cacioricotta lucana - Lucanian salt ricotta
Cacioricotta is the cheese that is used in this dish. This one is from Basilicata and is made with sheep and goats milk. It is a semi-hard cheese, firm enough to be grated - but be warned that it is very salty. Cacioricotta is a traditional cheese in many places throughout Italy, but to the discerning palate there will be variations in taste according to the area in which it is produced.
MISCHIGLIO con pomodoro e peperone crusco
Ingredients (serves 3-4):
[pasta]
100g semolina rimascinata
100g barley (or flour)
50g dried chickpeas (or flour)
50g dried split fava beans (or flour - or more chickpea flour)
[condiment]
4 whole dried sweet red peppers -peperone crusco
100ml olive oil
500g fresh grape tomatoes (daterini or cilegini)
2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
6 fresh bay leaves alloro
1 medium onion, chopped
grated cacioricotta
Instructions:
If you have a home mill, grind the barley, chickpeas and fava beans together. I put the flour through the mill twice to get a finer grind.
Put all of the flours together with about 150-200ml water to make a stiff, workable dough. If it ends up too moist, work in more semolina. Flour your work surface with semolina and knead the dough for 10 minutes. It will probably leave a layer of residue on your hands and countertop. Use a bench scraper for the countertop. Form into a ball, cover and let it rest one hour.
Cut the dough into chunks that will be rolled out a bit thicker than a pencil. Pinch off 2.5cm (1 inch) pieces from the pasta snake.
Using an instrument with a flat edge like a kitchen spatula, a bench scrapper or a stucco spatula (putty knife?) from the hardware store, take one of the pasta bits and drag it across your pasta board or wooden cutting board holding the edge of the pasta so that it remains open. Careful that the pasta doesn’t stick to the board and that you don’t press down so hard it breaks. You may have to give it a few goes before you get the hang of it.
Leave these to dry while you prepare the sauce.
Hold the pasta lightly and drag.
An open stracinati type pasta
And now to the sauce:
Wipe the peppers with a clean dry towel. Cut each one open, remove the seeds and flatten. Heat the olive oil in a small shallow pan. Using metal tongs, place the peppers skin-side down in the hot oil - but be prepared to hold them down and open because they tend to curl. Keep them submerged for the count of five and promptly remove. They will get crisp once cooled.
Slice the tomatoes in half. Place a large flat skillet on a high flame and sauté half the garlic in half the oil used for the peppers until lightly browned. Add 3 bay leaves and place the tomatoes face down in the pan. Fry until they turn brown on the cut surface. Set them aside in a bowl.
In the same skillet, add the rest of the olive oil, bay leaves and the chopped onions. Cook one minute and add the rest of the garlic. Sauté on medium until softened and in the meantime, put a large pot of salted water on to boil for the pasta.
Boil the pasta until it is mostly cooked. This will take about 5 minutes depending on how thinly your mischigli came out. You will have to try one, keeping in mind that there is a second phase to the cooking.
Using a strainer, remove the pasta from the pot and add it to the onion. Put the tomatoes on top of the pasta, add a ladleful of water from the pasta and cook on medium high, tossing frequently. Before all of the water has absorbed, add a handful of the cacioricotta and combine.
Test that the pasta is done to your liking keeping in mind that it will be more yielding than a pasta made with pure semolina. Plate.
Crumble the peppers on top (one for each serving).
And the final touch is the cheese.
