I promise I will stop talking about Tuscany one day soon, but that day is not today. Please allow me to wax lyrical (at least) one more time!
The tables were long, communal, and dotted with chilled bottles of wine. Places were marked by sheets of ochre paper and glasses ready to be filled, refilled, then refilled again. Platters of onions roasted in red wine were nestled next to deep bowls of marinated artichokes, mounds of ricotta and jars of chestnut honey. A little baby shuffled her way around the tables, greeting everyone with a regal wave (that cupped, graceful wave) and a cheeky grin.
This was a night at Fattoria San Donato - a night of chatting, pouring wine, and slurping pici all’aglione with strangers.
The details of that night have stuck with me, especially those relating to said slurpy pici. Pici is a wriggly, squiggly, perfectly imperfect hand-rolled pasta, typical to Tuscany. The chunky tomato sauce this particular pici was wriggling about in - all’aglione - was unlike any other I’ve had before.
Aglione, literally translating to “big garlic”, looks exactly as it translates; however, it’s actually a variety of wild leek and doesn’t contain allicin, the compound which gives regular garlic (aglio) its distinctive smell. As a result, aglione is sweeter and more mellow than regular garlic.
But it’s not only the garlic that makes this sauce unique; it’s also the cooking method. In fact, after chatting to the waiter at Fattoria San Donato, reading about all’aglione in books and online, and cooking it over and over again in our home kitchen, I have come to the conclusion that the unique method is more important than the aglione.
Using this method, a perfectly imperfect bowl of pici all’aglione can be made with big garlic, little garlic, and everything-in-between garlic. I hope this may bring you a happy evening of slurping.
Pici all’aglio(ne)
Making the pici element of this pici all’aglio(ne) is absolutely not essential; you could buy it at an Italian deli, or you could simply swap for another slurpy pasta shape such as bucatini or trusty spaghetti. But I will say that pici is perhaps the easiest of all the pasta shapes to make yourself and is one to try if you’d like to spend an hour or so of wind-down time in the kitchen. You don’t need any equipment other than your hands and the shaping needn’t be perfect - I know mine certainly isn’t! But, to me, that’s what pici is all about - it’s perfectly imperfect.