How do we adapt and still sty authentic?

Photo: Gastro Obscura/Ron Gentle

Su fillindeu doesn't cook in strands, it cooks in sheets.

In the world of food, there are a myriad of traditions that are woven into many of the dishes that become symbols of the culture they represent.

In the “New World” (North America), we have laid claim to modern traditional dishes but they of course have been adapted. The expression “as American as apple pie” began in the 1920s, and has come to represent a quintessential American dish. But pastry was created in Europe, and apple seeds were brought over by European immigrants and planted.

In Canada, we also claim a few signature desserts from different regions, but the one that seems to have the biggest range is the butter tart. This may be an original pioneer recipe born of ingenuity and necessity (who could live without dessert in a harsh climate?) However, there were certainly the European and British influences for pastry and filling recipes.

It seems this approach of combining new and old is also working in the other direction, as curious foodies and chefs explore iconic Old World dishes and look to adapt them for other parts of the world.

I read an article recently about a coveted pasta that is served for pilgrims after their 20 mile journey in Sardinia. (Link: Threads of God - Gastro Obscura )The pilgrimage honours the journey of San Francesco, who founded a sanctuary in the small town of Lula. For 300 years, people have come to share his experience by honouring his path and eating a simple meal that includes a unique pasta made by only one family all this time.

There are only a few women left in the Abraini family making “su filindeu.” Barilla pasta tried unsuccessfully to create a machine to duplicate the threads of pasta so thin they are thinner than angel hair (the name translates to “threads of God”.)

Traditionally, this recipe and method were only passed down to the women but because there are not many daughters remaining in current generations of her family, Paola decided to teach it to people outside her family. In 2021, two Canadian chefs made the pilgrimage and spent time learning with her.

The process is one of kneading semolina flour, sea salt and water into a dough that will stretch into not one but eight superfine layers of noodles. The result looks a bit like linen after the noodles dry on large flat disks in the sun.

Here’s what they said about the experience:

“Paola’s instructions were so casual and so, ‘Oh, a little bit of salt and a little bit of water, and you feel it,’” Gentile says. As the two professional chefs struggled and sweated for three hours, Abraini offered gracious encouragement.

“She was lovely. She was joyful and laughing.”

After their arduous work, they got to share a bowl of the traditional mutton broth that contained some of the boiled noodles and a sprinkle of fresh local Pecorino cheese. It was a simple, rustic meal, but one full of magic from a shared tradition.

I wonder if Paola was joyful and smiling because she got to see how trusting other people who were keen to understand her traditions was a new way to continue the magic in today’s world. It made me think of that old saying that if you really love something, you let it go, you don’t put it in a cage.

We don’t all have the opportunity to get everywhere or meet everyone doing different things in unique ways. I for one am overjoyed that one of the ways we can experience a bit of that magic is to share.

All we need is a bit of faith that love and respect remain key ingredients in the recipe.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.