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by Victor Béguin, Chef
I JUST MET a most remarkable woman. For over 75 of her 93 years Nonna Mary Piermarini (or Biz Nonna: i.e Great Grandmother) has been making traditional hand-made pastas and fragrant sauces from recipes handed down to her from generations past. The first lesson she gave us as we prepped pasta was that at 93 you can still be as strong as her ancient oak rolling pin, as witty as a 10 year old, and outlast the rest of the crew on an all day pasta rolling marathon. She wouldn't even sit down unless we made her! Which is hard to do since you can't make Biz Nonna do anything. Her family tried to give her a washing machine -- she stopped the delivery man in his tracks -- "Take that back, I didn't order it!" -- she washes everything by hand, including her kitchen floor. She insists on keeping her stove of 50 years. It is immaculate. She doesn't just clean it -- she takes it apart and cleans it. ( It keeps her mind working she states). She'll walk 10 miles to the store, where she buys flour (nothing but Gold Medal thank you very much) and eggs to make more "hand-mades", chestnut flour troffia and luscious raviolis for her extensive and loving family. Married at 14 and a mother at 16 she took care of her children and saw them all to professional careers, while she cared for her parents as well. Always in the kitchen, pasta making is her daily routine to this day. She instills a time honored sense of frugality and good sense, both in the kitchen and out. This is more than voluntary simplicity: she lives as did her ancestors, close to the ones she loves, close to the food she loves: a career of nourishing, an unshakable independence and a sweet life of giving. We all wonder when we'll have to stop doing what we love most. One assumes that at some point in time one will have to stop. Biz Nonna taught me not only how to make traditional hand-made pasta, but something else more elusive. I told her that she had shown me that I can just keep on cooking all my life. She gave me a piercing look, shook a magical finger at me and said fiercely "And don't you ever stop!!" Thank you, Biz Nonna! Later she said -- "Yeah, sometimes I wake up in the morning and don't feel like getting up, but then I say to myself, ÔWho am I to feel sorry for myself!' and I just get going." So that's the secret recipe. Finally its the "big night." She regales us with stories and mesmerizes us all with the simple dance of pasta: a well of flour, six eggs and olive oil carefully whisked in with a fork, a round of dough appears in her hands, carefully kneaded, a bit of water and bit more flour to a perfect, smooth consistency. Then on her antique board, with her oak rolling pin, (brought from a hill village near Genoa as a teenager, strapped to her back), she deftly presses down on the ball of dough. It gives way to the pressure and moves, turns, slides and slims to the size of a large pizza. But she rolls on, around the edges, short strokes then all the way across; then around the pin it goes, gentle strokes as it curls and doubles around the pin. Then flat onto the board again. A quick lift to the light, like a large sheet of parchment -- the light shows through evenly, translucent, just right. A few more quick rolls and its ready for the next step: Ravioli! Out comes the filling: a thick paste of lean veal and beef, butter, olive oil, onions, Romano cheese, eggs, spinach, celery leaves, fresh basil and garlic. ( "I eat some raw garlic every day", she says. Another secret recipe for health. "And no other medicine but a little Bufferin for the joints"!). Along the edge of the sheet she places teaspoons of the filling, shapes and spaces them just so. A game to see how many she can get in a row, she says quietly with a chuckle; she always wins. The pasta is dampened between the filling and along the edge. Then she flips the row doubling it over. Pressing down she seals all the seams, and smoothes the small mounds to an even spacing, the width of her wise finger, pointing in admonition. "Just this way, seam it well, no breaks!" Then, with the ravioli cutter she separates the row from the main sheet, and cuts between each ravioli. With a flick, perfect little raviolis skitter across the board. Make a quick simple red sauce, simmer the rav's to al dente and the feast, made by Biz Nonna, and the sparkle in her eyes, has won your heart and soul. Thank you, Biz Nonna!
Pasta:
Sift the flour and make a well in the middle. Fill with 6 eggs. Use fork to blend then knead by hand to produce ball of dough that does not stick to your hands and is smooth and well blended. Set aside for 15 minutes covered with a bowl to prevent drying. Lightly flour the board, roll out dough in batches to desired ravioli thickness. At the bottom of the sheet of dough 1 inch from left side and 1/2 inch from the bottom, place a small teaspoon of filling. Continue placing filling along the edge, separating the filling with the width of your index finger. Use your finger to moisten the dough with water just above, below and between the filling. Gently grasp the very bottom edge of the dough and roll it over the filling, pressing down the top sides and bottom to seal. Using your index finger roll and press in between each ravioli to seal. Then using a ravioli cutter, apply firm downward pressure, cut across the top of the ravioli where sealed. Trim each end and then cut between each ravioli and place on a tray and freeze, until ready to cook.
Ravioli Filling:
Sauté onions and garlic in olive oil until soft, add bay leaves and celery. Add tomatoes and simmer gently for 15 minutes. Add salt and pepper. Serve hot over raviolis.
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