The cheek of it

I recently spent 3 hours in conversation with a Roman coach driver named Alessandro over that most passionate and imflamatory subject, cooking spaghetti. He insisted (and he is not alone here) that Roman pasta dishes such as Carbonara and Amatriciana cannot be made outside Rome because of the water used to boil the pasta. I did not have the opportunity to test this theory at the time, but am determined to do so, as and when it becomes possible to carry several jerry cans of regional water around Italy.

This notion that regional dishes can only be prepared in their own regions is common throughout Italy, and is symptomatic of the country’s notorious divisions. It is a reminder of the ultimate Italian identity crisis, that the nation forged during the Risorgimento of the 1860s was an artificial construct: local affiliations and rivalries more pronounced than in other European countries. So making Roman pasta could be as hard in Naples as it could in New York.

The one vital regional ingredient in three key Roman dishes is guanciale di maiale, the cured pork cheek that features in Pasta alla Gricia, Amatriciana and Carbonara. It is readily confused with the pancetta (bacon from the belly) used all over Italy, while the correct addition of pecorino is usually supplanted by parmesan – the former is made from sheep’s milk and has a slightly sharper tang.

To make guanciale the cheek is washed in wine then seasoned with salt and pepper and left for forty days to cure, then hung to dry. Pasta alla Gricia is said to be the oldest Roman pasta, before the addition of tomatoes to make Amatriciana (the arrival of the tomato in Italy is another story) and eggs for Carbonara. As I am reliably informed by the proprietor of the Ristorante Sant’Ana in Rome, ancient Roman soldiers would carry a piece of cured guanciale in their packs and eat pieces with stale bread moistened with water. Fortunately the dish has come on some way since then, but is still a masterpiece of simplicity.