Bacon and Eggs, Italian-Style

The city of Rome measures its history in centuries--and food, of course, has played a fundamental role in Rome’s history. Cookbooks have chronicled the city’s foods and wines ever since extravagant millionaire/gastronomer Apicius set his sumptuous First-Century table with nightingale’s tongues, camel’s heels and the liver of a goose force-fed on figs. But no historical accounts mention pasta alla carbonara , possibly the greatest dish claimed by Romans as their own, until after World War II.

It’s creamy without cream and rich in spite of everyday ingredients. Three classic flavor elements frequently found together in cuisines the world over--eggs, cured pork and cheese--attain glory hugging pasta. (In a city that adores the baroque, some cooks add a hint of garlic.) The preparation is rapid, and perfect timing is required so you don’t wind up with scrambled eggs instead of the all-important custard-like sauce.

And there’s a secret ingredient that all carbonara restaurant cooks use, but that is never mentioned in recipes (more on that later).

The pasta of choice is spaghetti or harder-to-twirl bucatini , although quill-shaped penne or tubular rigatoni are said to be the original shapes used and are preferred by cooks preparing more than four portions. Carbonara requires dexterity both in the kitchen and at the table--twisting garden-hose-like bucatini alla carbonara around a fork can result in a serious stain on one’s shirt.

In true Italian style, there are many conflicting theories about the origins of pasta alla carbonara , and every Roman I’ve spoken to was convinced that his or her version was the one true one. The name, some say, is a clear reference to the charcoal makers of the Apennine mountains, who set out for the forests with a tascapane (knapsack) packed with pecorino cheese, guanciale (salt-cured pork jowl), eggs and pasta.

The men chopped, piled, buried and slowly burned their wood to make charcoal, cooking their one-course pasta dinner dressed with knapsack ingredients over the smoldering fire. Local women visited the site, trading tobacco for first pickings of the charcoal pieces left by the carbonara eaters.

Chef Antonello Colonna (of Vecchia Osteria in Labico, outside Rome) says the pasta was once called alla Silvio Pellico after the leader of the 19th-Century Carbonari, a secret Italian nationalistic movement, although the timing seems off, and the dish doesn’t seem to fit the image.

One Italian food historian believes carbonara was created during the occupation of Rome by American soldiers, who insisted on combining their beloved bacon and eggs with an indigenous ingredient, spaghetti, much the way a child would pour ketchup indiscriminately over everything on a plate. Some kinder sources said that American soldiers contributed the bacon and powdered eggs of their rations to dress the pastas of hungry Romans. Both theories provide some cooks’ justification for using smoky bacon, a decidedly non-Roman product, instead of the local salt-and-pepper-cured pork jowl.

Still another gastronomic camp has wealthy refugees from the German occupation of Rome surviving on pasta alla carbonara in the mountains of Abruzzo, then recreating the dish when they returned home after the war.

But the truth is probably less entertaining. It most likely has to do with readily available ingredients found in even the poorest of Roman kitchens: hard sheep’s-milk cheese, eggs and a lesser cut of pork, cured with salt. Chef Elio Mariani (Restaurant Checchino in Rome) says that pasta alla carbonara is an evolution of unto e ovo , a sauce of rendered pork fat and eggs for homemade flour-and-water pasta.

And it does, in fact, seem like a typical home-style Italian improvisation to keep hunger at bay when faced with an almost-empty larder; it’s also just one of a series of pasta treatments based on the same simple ingredients.

To learn how to cook the perfect carbonara , begin with the raw materials. Imported Italian pasta made from hard durum wheat semolina will hold up best to cooking and is essential for successful results. Roman traditionalists use guanciale (salt-and-pepper-cured pork jowl), but since it probably won’t be available, look for a salt-cured pork product: pancetta , salt pork or, as a last resort, simply flavored pork sausage. Don’t use anything highly flavored or (warned all the Romans I spoke to) smoked.

Vegetarians can substitute cooked asparagus tips, broccoli, sweet red pepper strips, sliced onion or any other vegetable (one only, since carbonara is a careful balance of flavors) that goes well with eggs and cheese. Although the result won’t be as wonderful as the classic carbonara , the same concept can be employed without meat.

The cheese of choice is pecorino Romano (frequently called Romano in the United States), a hard grating cheese made with sheep’s milk from the Roman (and Sardinian) countryside. Some cooks use Parmesan or a blend of both cheeses for a milder taste.

Whole eggs are used in carbonara (farm cooks and woodsmen don’t separate eggs), and they should be at room temperature. Using only yolks to attain a rich consistency is considered the easy way out by most carbonara cooks.

Cream is never an ingredient, insist the Romans; it’s used as a shortcut by those who can’t control the eggs and don’t know about the never-mentioned secret ingredient, so taken for granted by all the carbonara cooks I spoke to.

The secret? Some of the hot, starchy, salted water in which the pasta has cooked is added to the eggs, raising their scrambling temperature. The pasta water helps tighten the sauce and bind it to the pasta, imparting a silky texture that is often mistakenly attributed to cream.

Home cooks and all the written recipes I have found call for tossing cooked, drained pasta with the eggs, pork and cheese in a serving dish, but this method really doesn’t work too well, because the sauce doesn’t stick to the pasta and lacks the desired custard-like consistency. All the restaurant cooks I’ve watched combine cooked pasta and pork with starchy pasta water and lightly beaten eggs directly over the heat, adding grated cheese and stirring constantly, with a sure sense of just how long to cook all the ingredients to thicken without curdling or scrambling.

It’s not a difficult technique to master, but it may take dozens of eggs, several pounds of pasta and many hours close to a large pan of boiling, salted, starchy water (which is good for your skin, anyway). Although my Roman friends might be horrified, I’ve developed a procedure that combines both home and restaurant techniques and is easier to control.

This recipe makes an ample amount of sauce, ideal for those who enjoy cleaning their pasta bowls with a crust of bread. Light eaters may want to make a little less sauce. Multiply each ingredient by the number of people you plan to serve.

PASTA ALLA CARBONARA

1 ounce salt-cured pork (jowl, pancetta, salt pork, unsmoked bacon or lightly flavored sausage), cut into 1/4-inch slices

1 clove garlic, minced, optional

Salt

3 to 4 ounces imported pasta (spaghetti, rigatoni or penne)

1 egg

3 tablespoons grated pecorino Romano or Parmigiano cheese or blend of both

Freshly ground pepper

1 to 2 tablespoons hot, salted, starchy water from pan that pasta has cooked in

Lightly saute pork in large pan until slightly browned but not crisp and remove from heat. (Garlic can be sauteed with pork.)

Bring large pan of water to boil, using at least 1 quart water for each portion of pasta. (Larger amount of pasta added to smaller amount of water will lower water’s temperature--water will take longer to return to boil and pasta will be gummy.) When water comes to boil, add salt. Don’t skimp. Add pasta, gently bending spaghetti to fully immerse in boiling water. For more than 4 portions, use short pasta, since penne or rigatoni are easier to work with than spaghetti.

While pasta cooks, mix egg, cheese, salt to taste and plenty of pepper in small saucepan. Pour 1 or 2 cups boiling water into bowl that pasta will be served in, and place saucepan in bowl. This improvised double boiler warms both sauce and serving bowl.

When pasta is cooked al dente, add 1 to 2 tablespoons pasta water to saucepan and remove saucepan from serving bowl. Place well-drained pasta in pan with sauteed pork and stir in warm egg mixture. Sauce will appear thin. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly with wooden fork, until sauce thickens slightly. (This step requires much attention and stirring, because too much heat will scramble eggs.)

Empty hot water from serving bowl, pour pasta and sauce into warmed bowl, and serve. Salmonella-conscious diners should take temperature of sauced pasta, making sure thermometer registers 160 degrees. Makes 1 serving.

Each serving contains about:

929 calories; 1,784 mg sodium; 325 mg cholesterol; 52 grams fat; 68 grams carbohydrates; 45 grams protein; 0.26 gram fiber.