Spaghetti with Garlic and Chilies (oh and a few anchovies)

     

Some ingredient combinations are like alchemy. Toss together a few mundane things in the exact right way and you get a dish that's transcendent, brilliant, better than it should be for what went into it. And such was our dinner the other night of spaghetti with garlic, chilies, and a few anchovies. There wasn't much to it, yet it was sublime.

Of course the quality of the ingredients had something to do with it; I had lucked into some of the best garlic and chilies imaginable. But even so, it was a good reminder that even when there's nothing in the house for dinner, there usually is, even if the garlic and chilies came from the supermarket instead of, you know, London's amazing Borough Market.

That's right, I made an Italian pasta dish with ingredients from London in my Brooklyn kitchen. Not very authentic or local or what have you. But boy was it good.

It all started when a friend (who clearly knows me well) returned from a trip to London with some contraband Borough Market treats. 

I'd been lamenting the disappearance of good garlic this time of year. All the farmers' market stuff is dry and dull and the first spring bulbs have yet to ripen. And you have to pick through a lot of supermarket garlic to avoid the soft and sprouty heads. I use garlic constantly nonetheless because that's how I am. But that doesn't stop me from complaining.

Kvetch and ye shall receive:  my friend arrived at my house with a brown paper bag filled with gorgeous Lautrec garlic.  And I am most grateful to my Garlic Smuggling Friend GSF (who shall remain nameless lest the US Customs and Border Protection agents hunt her down). 

In case you didn't know, the little town of Lautrec in the south of France has been famous for its garlic for centuries (yes I just looked all this up...).  It's serious business there.  So serious that it was given the Certificat d'Identification Geograhique Protégée (certificate of protected geographical identification).  It can only be called Lautrec garlic if it's grown in Lautrec.  It comes streaked white and rose, with taut fat bulbs that are pink at the tip after peeling. The flavor at first seems sweet and floral, but keep chewing and a sharp, spicy bite hits the tongue, followed by an earthy quality.  It is just spectacular garlic.  Decidedly un-local, but spectacular.

My GSF also brought me a curious little jar of Calabrian Chili.  I'm all too familiar with the yummy salt/oil packed Tutto Calabria chilies that the Brooklyn Larder carries (they're a mainstay in my kitchen).  But this jar from Borough Market was different.  According to the Calabrian gent who sold them (and who allegedly sported an authentic and impressive mono-brow), a genuine Calabrian grandmother roasts the chili flakes till they're almost dry, then packs them in salt and oil.  The flavor is searing hot, smoky, complex and very salty, with a crunchy, brittle texture. They were so addictive that I accidentally ate a small pinch flake by flake like potato chips, tears streaming down my face (in a good way).

As I looked at my new overseas goodies, dinner began to take a very clear shape.

I'd riff on the classic southern Italian pasta Aglio e Olio (garlic and oil), stirring in a spoonful of those crunchy chilies along with some anchovies and capers.

This kind of preparation is best paired with a long pasta shape—classically, spaghetti.  And I had a lovely, Campania-made, fancy-pants Setaro spaghetti at the ready (sometimes I just can't stop myself from spending $12 on a pound of pasta, but it's a cheap shopping high, much more economical than, say, that $190 pair of jeans). 

For the two of us for dinner (this dish was going to be far too spicy to share with our small child) I used three cloves of garlic, and wished I'd used more.  For the sake of experiencing the garlic in many manifestations, I chopped 1 of the cloves, and left the other 2 whole after smashing and peeling them. The whole, smashed cloves get sweet when slowly cooked in oil while the minced one, which I added at the end, stayed bright and pungent. And the anchovies and capers added a salty briny depth.

The pasta was so good and so simple that I plan to make it again, even when my stash of fancy garlic and chilies is gone (and they are not long for this world, I think I'm making this dish again tonight). In which case, I'll just use the best, fattest, plumpest garic I can find, and some good crushed red chili flakes that I'll toast in oil for a minute or two with a pinch of salt to mimic that deep, browned flavor.

My friend's gift was more than just good garlic and chilies, it was a reminder that sometimes the simplest recipes are the best. And when late winter palate fatigue sets in, pasta with a little chili and a lot of garlic will set it right again.

By the way, if you're wondering why there isn't a mouth-watering photo of the finished dish it's because we inhaled the thing too quickly. I simply couldn't wait.  Make this and I think you'll see why.

 

Spaghetti with Garlic and Chilies (and a few anchovies)

Serves 2

1/2 pound spaghetti or any long pasta shape

Salt

3 tablespoons good olive oil, more for drizzling

1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon red chili flakes (use the best stuff you can find, preferably of Italian origin)

3 or 4 fat garlic cloves, 2 or 3 smashed and peeled, 1 minced

3 tablespoons drained capers, patted dry with a paper towel to encourage browning

2 to 4 anchovy filets

Freshly ground black pepper

Squeeze of lemon, optional (the pasta was good with and without the lemon, so squeeze to taste)

1. Bring a heavily salted pot of water to a boil (about 1/4 cup salt for a loarge pot of water). Cook the spaghetti until al dente. Drain.

2. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large skillet, the largest one you have. Add the chilies and a pinch of salt and toast until golden, 1- 2 minutes (skip this step if you are lucky enough to be using fancy toasted Calabrian chilies).

3. Add the smashed garlic, capers, and anchoviues and let cook until everything is well golden and the capers look crisp around the edges and the anchovies have dissolved into the oil (you can help this along by mashing them with a wooden spoon as they cook).

4. Add the remaining minced garlic to the pan and saute for 15 seconds, then add the drained pasta and toss well. Add more salt if necessary, and plenty of black pepper, and serve drizzled with more oil and a squeeze of lemon if the dish needs a lift. Cheese isn't necessary but if you like pecorino and have some on hand, feel free to shower it on top.