As I meandered through the recipes of The Glorious Pasta of Italy by Domenica Marchetti, with France Ruffenach’s sensual photographs, my appetite revved from 0 to 60 in no time.

What to savor first?

Mafalde with Roasted Tomatoes, Robiola, and Crushed Fennel Seeds?

Maccheroni alla Chitarra with Ragù all’Abruzzese and Palottine?

The Candy-Wrapped Tortelli with Rainbow Chard and Ricotta (whimsically named because the pasta is twisted to resemble hard candy wrappers)?

Bigoli with Spicy Sardine Sauce?

Or… BLT Bucatini?

Turns out—none of the above.

The answer presented itself definitively on page 127: Spaghetti al Farouk. It wasn’t only the spaghetti, cream, seafood, and saffron that got to me. It was the charming anecdote that seasoned the dish. The story behind the pasta reminded me of the scene in Fellini’s Amacord where the Middle Eastern potentate arrives at the Grand Hotel with his harem.

Domenica describes is like this. . .

“This is a unique dish, and one that is near and dear to my heart. When I was a girl, my family owned a beach house on Abruzzo’s Adriatic coast. I have many wonderful memories of whiling away summer days on the beach with friends and enjoying late-night marathon meals that featured freshly caught local seafood. One of our favorite restaurants was right on the beach. My memory says it was on the outskirts of the port city of Pescara, but my mother swears it was in nearby Francavilla. Since she is originally from the region, I will defer to her on that detail. Neither of us remembers the name of the restaurant, but we do remember that it was a casual place with a reputation for impeccable fish and seafood. One of its signature dishes was Spaghetti al Farouk, a fanciful curried pasta dish that brimmed with fresh mussels, shrimp/prawns, and pannocchie (something like crayfish or tiny lobsters.) The dish was named for the deposed Egyptian king who fled to Italy in 1952, and the sauce was spicy, silky, and a deep gold. My mother re-created the recipe in her own kitchen in the 1970s, and I still have a typed copy that she gave me. I’ve tinkered with the sauce over the years, lightening it a bit and trying different quantities of the various spices. In all honesty, I can’t tell you whether it is anything like the original—it’s been some thirty years—but I can tell you that it is a sauce like no other.

Spaghetti al Farouk

Makes 4 to 6 servings

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 large yellow onion, chopped

Large pinch of saffron threads, pounded to a powder (see cook’s note)

1 tablespoon curry powder (preferably spicy)

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1/4 teaspoon minced fresh thyme

1 fresh bay leaf

1/2 teaspoon kosher or fine sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Juice of 1/2 lemon

3/4 cup/180 ml dry white wine

1 cup/240 ml heavy/double cream

1 pound/455 g dried spaghetti

12 mussels, well scrubbed and debearded if necessary (see cook’s note)

16 large shrimp/prawns, peeled and deveined

6 ounces/170 g frozen shelled cooked langoustine tails (see cook’s note)

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and salt generously.

In a frying pan large enough to hold all of the seafood, warm the olive oil and butter over medium heat. When the butter is melted and begins to sizzle, add the onion and stir to coat with the oil and butter. Sauté, stirring frequently, for about 7 minutes, or until the onion is softened but not browned. Stir in the saffron, curry powder, ginger, thyme, bay leaf, salt, and a generous grind of pepper, taking care to incorporate all of the herbs and spices. Stir in the lemon juice, raise the heat to medium-high, and pour in the wine. Let the sauce simmer briskly for about 3 minutes, or until slightly thickened. Reduce the heat to medium and stir in the cream. Bring the sauce back to a very gentle simmer. If the pasta water is not yet boiling, reduce the heat under the sauce to low and wait until the pasta water boils.

Add the pasta to the boiling water, stir to separate the noodles, and cook according to the manufacturer’s instructions until al dente. Once the pasta is in the water, proceed with finishing the sauce.

Add the mussels, shrimp/prawns, and langoustine tails to the simmering sauce, cover, and cook for 5 to 8 minutes, or until the mussels open, the shrimp/prawns are just cooked through, and the langoustine tails are heated through. Discard any mussels that failed to open.

Drain the pasta into a colander set in the sink, reserving about 1 cup/240ml of the cooking water. If the frying pan is large enough to contain both the pasta and the sauce, add the pasta to the frying pan and gently toss the pasta and sauce to combine thoroughly, adding a splash or two of the cooking water if necessary to loosen the sauce. If the frying pan is not large enough, return the pasta to the pot, add about two-thirds of the sauce, toss to combine thoroughly, and then top with the remaining sauce when serving. Transfer the dressed pasta to a warmed serving bowl or shallow individual bowls. If you are preparing individual servings, be sure to divide the seafood evenly among them. Serve immediately.

Cook’s note: Saffron

Beautiful red-gold saffron threads (zafferano) are the dried stigmas of the purple-striped flowers of the Crocus sativus plant. Saffron from Abruzzo’s Navelli plain is among the best in the world. The spice is sold in two forms, powder and threads. The powder dissolves more easily, but it is also more easily tampered with. To be sure you are getting pure saffron, buy the threads and gently pound them to a powder before using. I use a mortar and pestle for pounding, but you can also press down on the threads with a heavy object, such as the flat side of a meat pounder or mallet.

Cook’s note: Shellfish

Much of the shellfish available these days is farm raised and therefore contains less dirt and grit than shellfish harvested from the wild. To clean mussels, scrub their shells with a stiff brush under cold running water. Discard any that do not close tightly when handled. If the mussels have beards, the fibrous tufts they use to hold on to pilings and rocks, you need to remove them. Using a towel or just bare fingers, grasp the beard gently but firmly and yank it toward the shell’s hinge. This will remove the fibers without tearing the mussel meat.

Frozen langoustine tails lack the flavor of fresh ones, but they are much more readily available and they have a nice, meaty texture that captures the sauce and absorbs its flavor.

Text copyright ©2011 by Domenica Marchetti

Photographs copyright ©2011 by France Ruffenach

Question: What’s wrong with this picture?

Answer: Absolutely nothing!

I snapped this beauty from the terrazza of the Hotel Il San Pietro di Positano, a Relais & Chateaux property named one of the best hotels in the world by the readers of Condé Nast Traveler.

I was with a group of travel professionals and writers touring the hotel during a recent certification program hosted by the province of Salerno, which occupies about half of the region of Campania. The Italian Government Tourist Board North America (ENIT) and Alitalia Airlines were also sponsors.

In three action packed days, our Salerno hosts treated us to some hidden gems. They’re working hard to expand awareness of Salerno’s offerings, the best known of which are the towns clinging to the Amalfi Coast.

The Villa Cimbrone Hotel in Ravello.

Salerno is the Amalfi but a lot more as well. It is the mountains north of the coast that divide costiera d’amalfi from Naples and also the large area south of the city of Salerno. This includes the incomparable Greek ruins at Paestum, plenty of beaches, and the wild beauty of the Cilento national park.

In my upcoming posts, I’ll share some tastes and sights of Salerno province where new doors were opened for me.

Twin portals in Positano.

Cruising the Cilento coast south of Salerno.

Castello Arechi standing guard above the city of Salerno.

A musician in the town of Minori.

A seafood feast at the King's Residence Hotel in Palinuro.

Two gentlemen on the steps of the Duomo in the town of Amalfi.

I stayed for a few days in "Lemon Heaven" overlooking the town of Amalfi.

Portside in Amalfi.

Gladiator girl gearing for conquest.

Taking a little rest in Ravello.

Have you visited Salerno?

What destination spoke to you?

Every coastal region of Italy has a seafood stew. Tuscany— or more specifically the port town of Livorno—has cacciucco (ka-CHOO-ko). While the word is fun to pronounce, the dish is even more pleasurable to eat.

I yearn for cacciucco in the spring. It was in primavera that I first tasted cacciucco at Trattoria Benvenuto in Florence and I haven’t been the same since.

Some say the dish must have at least five types of seafood to correspond to the five Cs in the word. The more fish and shellfish, the better the flavor. And select good quality red wine and artisanal quality bread with good texture to soak up the amazing broth.

Choose the freshest fish available. Use one type or as many as three or four, to comprise 2 pounds. Sea bass, monkfish, cod, halibut, swordfish, shark, tilapia, turbot, catfish, or red snapper are all good choices.

As for the shellfish, in this recipe, I’m using littleneck clams and shrimp but baby calamari, octopus, mussels, or scallops may be substituted.

Cacciucco

Serves 6 to 8

3/4       cup olive oil
1          large red onion, coarsely chopped
4          large cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2    teaspoons dried crushed red-pepper flakes
1           cup dry red wine
1        can (28 ounces) crushed plum tomatoes
1/2       cup minced fresh flat-leaf parsley, divided
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
24       littleneck clams
24                medium or large unpeeled shrimp
2 to 2 1/2         pounds mild white-fleshed fish fillets, cut in 2-inch chunks
3          cups cold water
6 to 8 thick slices Rustic Bread, toasted

Heat the oil in a 6-quart Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, and pepper flakes. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes or until soft. Add the wine. Increase the heat to medium-high. Cook at a brisk simmer for 5 minutes or until the wine no longer smells of alcohol. Add the tomatoes, all but 2 tablespoons of the parsley, and salt. Bring to a boil then reduce the heat until sauce simmers gently. Cover and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, for the flavors to blend.

Add the clams and shrimp; stir. Add the fish and stir gently. Increase the heat to high. Cook for 2 minutes or until liquid starts to bubble. Add the water. Cover and reduce the heat so the mixture simmers but does not boil. Cook for 10 minutes or until the clams open and the other seafood is opaque in the center. Discard any clams that will not open. Spoon over bread set in pasta plates or large shallow bowls. Sprinkle with the remaining parsley.

What Italian seafood stews have you savored and where? Tell us!

Photograph of Elena Kostioukovitch by Massimo Pasquale

Elena Kostioukovitch is not Italian. She was born in Kiev, Ukraine. But Kostioukovitch is deeply in touch with her Inner Italian. How do I know? I’ve been reading Why Italians Love to Talk About Food, the Farrar, Straus and Giroux publication of her book.

Kostioukovitch’s day job is to translate the literary works of Umberto Eco and other authors into the Russian language. Also an essayist and literary agent, she has lived in Milan for more than two decades. She explains in the preface to her 400-plus page tome, “This book was born specifically to assemble in a single volume stories about the symbolic foods of each Italian region and their ‘ideological’ meanings.”

She creates an intellectual journey from the north of the peninsula to the south, exploring culinary history, characteristic dishes, and cultural eccentricities of each region. Her research is rigorous — footnotes and bibliography cover more than 30 pages.

We learn, for instance, that the aperitivo Campari was created by Gaspare Campari at the Caffè Zucca in Milan in 1867.

We practically taste the brine on our lips as we discover that the remaining wilderness of Puglia fosters in the locals a preference for unadulterated foods. “The tendency to eat unprocessed food is especially evident in the consumption of raw fish. In fish markets, for example, it is customary to set out plates of raw shrimp, cuttlefish, and mussels for customers who are waiting, to be eaten on the spot with a squirt of lemon.”

And who knew that Nutella, the jarred gianduia paste created by the Ferrero brothers in Piedmont, makes a political statement? Kostioukovitch explains, “Nutella, loved by children (naturally) and adults, was also prized by nonconformists and leftists. As Italy’s answer to [American peanut butter], it is winning, uplifting, and youthful, a sign of democracy and leftist ideals.”

Essays interspersed between the regional food chapters are quirky and informative, covering topics as diverse as the “Jews,” “Early Gifts from the Americas,” “Totalitarianism,” and “Joy.” I particularly appreciated “Preparation Methods,” a roster of dozens of cooking techniques written in sort of a shorthand code. Not much is spelled out for the Italian home cook in printed recipes—presumably the cook learned these methods at an older cook’s elbow.

“Soak prickly pears.”

“Extract the ink from cuttlefish.”

“Shape polenta in a cloth.”

“Crogiolare (bask or laze comfortably): cook a food over a slow fire, with a little liquid, for a long time.”

One word of warning: Perusing this volume can be hazardous on an empty stomach. Hunger ensues. References to Roman coda all vaccinara (oxtail stew), Neopolitan sartù, (a rice mold with giblets, mushrooms, peas and mozzarella), Ferrara’s pumpkin filled tortelli, Calabrian jujume (sea anemone fritters), Sicilian granita with brioche, and more dishes too numerous to recount will surely make you long to be dining at an Italian table.

Kostioukovitch bottom line is this: “Examining the culture of food, we also come to understand its unique ability to inspire joy and create harmony. Whether at table with family, in a restaurant with friends, or at a scientific conference—food is talked about in a language that is accessible to all, exciting to everyone, democratic and positive.”

What conversations have you enjoyed around an Italian table?

Comment below.

Octopus salad prepared with fennel, red bell peppers, extra virgin olive oil and coarsely ground black pepper.

Chill rain and high winds aren’t exactly a siren song call to the beach. When Walter and I visited Puglia this spring, the region was experiencing the wettest primavera for scores, perhaps hundreds of years. (The longevity of the record seemed to grow with each subsequent local we met).

While we didn’t get to wiggle our toes in warm sand, we did sample a taste of the sea at Il Vecchio Forno, a very good seafood restaurant in the shore town of Barletta on the Adriatic coast north of Bari.

A gratin of mussels blanketed in breadcrumbs and olive oil.

We savored many courses, all prepared simply from pristinely fresh seafood. Most memorable are a gratin of mussels, fish fritters, fried anchovies, octopus salad, seafood risotto, and a grilled spigola (sea bass) with lemon.

Il Vecchio Forno

Via Cialdini 61

Barletta, Puglia