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Who is HESTON BLUMENTHAL?

When we eat, elements of sight, touch, smell, taste and memory come together in a sensorial concert. New discoveries in the kitchen demonstrate how important this union is: every ingredient, temperature and preparation plays a role at a molecular level. All kitchens should know the relationships between science, art and traditions. The goal is to discover these relationships and with that knowledge to create an experience that goes beyond the palate. This is the main scope of action at the Fat Duck where the brilliant Heston Blumenthal spent years studying the role of each component in a dish and the complex process of interaction between ingredients.

Eating and meditating in Heston's universe is a symphony of the senses. Every aspect is in harmony. An interweaving of innovation and creativity, a continuous dialogue between modern concepts, flavors and techniques: in short, the reinterpretation of gastronomy by the brilliant English chef. His cuisine is fresh, new, exciting, extraordinary, with great taste that has literally intrigued gourmets from half the planet.

Every Blumenthal creation is a masterpiece in concept, flavour, sophistication, technique and presentation. Impressive dishes elaborated with logic, an impressive sequence of proposals that will leave an indelible mark in your memory: the Fat Duck is a unique gourmand refuge in the global gastronomic panorama. The questions relating to the taste of molecular cuisine are very complex. We often criticize what we don't know and, except for a few researchers, cooking masters, intelligent gourmets, we are overwhelmed by clichés, banalities and many times the worst damage comes from industry experts. Of course, one can find many possible pretexts for not adhering to Blumenthal's cuisine. There are those who find it incomprehensible and there are those who try to understand it. We like it a lot because Heston and the Fat Duck are a world apart for concepts, philosophy, reflections that turn into creations where genius and passion shine through. We met him after an unforgettable lunch in the restaurant kitchen for an interview that we report and from which emerges the man with so much generosity, vanity, humility, love and respect for the profession. However, the stories of successes and new acquisitions take us back in time, when in August 1995 the chef transformed an ancient pub with 450 years of history into the Fat Duck, which in 10 years of life achieved fame and well-deserved goals, bringing a growing pilgrimage to Bray, a picturesque and peaceful village in Berkshire, a few km from London Heathrow airport. The expansion of the restaurant and kitchens took place in the summer of 2000 until the recent purchase of the pub and the birth of the laboratory which gave immense vitality to the experimentation process. At 39, with meticulous devotion, he draws pillars for the future: a new book and many interesting projects will tempt us and will inevitably be serialized by chefs around the globe.

HESTON BLUMENTHAL and Aldo's Pasta

THE SEARCH FOR THE BEST

It's easy to dismiss pasta as a mere mass, carbohydrate festival that is merely the basis for exquisite sauces, when it is in fact an integral part of the dish and one of the key flavors that will determine its character. In short, pasta should have flavor. I was determined to track down something suitably delicious for my ragu. I also needed to refine my ideas about which shape was the best accompaniment for it.

I decided to savor as many types of pasta as I could to find a higher quality producer and then go to Italy to talk to him. Martelli, De Cecco, Barilla, Del Verde, Rummo, Pasta dello Scugnizzo, La Molisana, Rustichella d'Abruzzo, Agnesi, Cipriani, Sapori di Casa, Ivana Maroni… I contacted the shops and websites and came away with pasta of all types and sizes from the various producers: pappardelle, spaghettini, bucatini, bavette, spaghetti, tagliatelle. I bought some fresh pasta to compare it with dried pasta, but I was thinking of using dried pasta for the ragu. I found it better with its al dente composition, which gave the kind of body you need in a meat dish. (At Fat Duck we make fresh pasta for a dish of lobster lasagna, but then we dry them to capture the taste). Upon returning to the laboratory, I placed two large saucepans on the plates and added to each of them a liter of boiling water, 10g of salt and 100g of pasta. 1:10:100 – the golden rule of pasta, adding enough water to rehydrate the pasta and dilute the starch that comes out of it, and enough salt to strengthen its taste. Approximately 10' later the dough test begins.

I was almost disappointed that the first two pastas out of the pots were so good. Rehearsing is always made more difficult when the yardstick is set earlier. Nevertheless I already felt that these were the right ones. I had a feeling that an egg noodle might capture what I had in mind, and these tasted just like that (although Chris complains that this reminded him more of a Chinese stir-fry; this just showed that one man's perfection is another man's poison).

The composition was also excellent: firm and chewable, but not too thick. None of the other 4 types of pasta could knock the top two off the top spot. The composition was also right, but there was no taste.

I could have happily eaten a pasta-only bowl of one of the first two courses. These 4, on the other hand, would have needed some sauces to have a modicum of taste. The next 2 came from smaller manufacturers Aldo's Pasta and Rustichella d'Abruzzo. They looked right and, more importantly, they tasted right too. Some large producers produced quite good pasta, especially given their high levels of productivity, but they had to carve out some (profit) margins, and this showed in the finished product. Use soft wheat instead of semi-ground "semolina"; add hot water instead of cold water; drying the layers with hot air – all these practices inflated profit margins, but reduced quality. Originally the pasta was dried in the open air and was subsequently taken out of the bronze molds, which gave it a special compactness which held the sauce perfectly. Today the major producers tend to use nylon or Teflon molds which make the surface too smooth to hold the sauce. The 2 types of pasta in front of me had an irregularity, a sandpaper-like composition that suggested a lot of care in their preparation. I was expecting something special and I got it: cooking rich and tasty pasta.

Although we had reviewed many types of pasta in the afternoon, none of them could come close to the quality of these 2.

ALDO'S PASTA, in particular, captured the opposites that characterize an excellent pasta - body with lightness; a rich flavor that isn't overpowering; substance and delicacy - and the color was fantastic: a vivid yellow that shows how the main ingredients are eggs, wheat and semolina, durum wheat flour which is vital for good pasta. It was clear that my next trip to Italy would include a visit to Monte San Giusto to see if Luigi Donnari would introduce me to the preparation of his pasta.

THE BEST PASTA IN ITALY

TAG TEAMS

Traveling south towards Rome, the landscape began to change. The director was playing DJ and such Funk & Drive they came from the loudspeakers of the car, we darted down the wide plains, we passed the hills crowned with crumbled buildings. Finally we left the freeway and climbed the winding road to Monte San Giusto, home to La Pasta di Aldo – the pasta that surpassed all others in our testing.

We pulled up next to a block of flats. This was an area where people worked hard to make a living. Small appreciations of vineyards and olive trees dotted the valley amidst the usual farm equipment: grumbling tractors, jagged plates of corrugated metal. Each property has a watchdog, and the air is filled with birdsong and dog barking.

Luigi Donnari was waiting for us on the gravel in front of the bungalow, which proved to be where he created his amazing pasta – a real industrial activity that is based on home working! In his understated sweater and rimless glasses Luigi looked like a university professor, but his enthusiasm for pasta was anything but academic. Get him talking on his favorite topic and his words rush out.

“This is not something I do for the money. During the day I work for a shoe factory in order to have funds for my passion – making pasta. Come and see”.

It is true that Luigi is not "in" for the money. He could expand his business but was determined not to compromise on quality. He's scoured the country for the machines that will make the perfect pasta. More so than not this means tracking down older models that trick you towards excellence rather than speed. Higher productivity would have required more of these machines, and that requires long-term dedication from all of his pasta customers.

We passed through a row of plastic strips that dangled over the entrance and entered Luigi's “factory”. It was on a completely different scale than anything I'd encountered in my travels: four small rooms that contained the entire process, from kneading to canning. It was the workplace of a true craftsman. As the sun entered the prep room, it brought out a vibrant yellow-orange glow of layers of noodles hung out to dry. Luigi explained his methods.

“YOU NEED EGG WHITE TO HELP THE HOMOGENEITY OF THE DOUGH, EGG YOLKS FOR FLAVOR AND COLOR.” WHILE WE TALKED, LUIGI'S WIFE, MARIA, POURED EVERYTHING INTO A MIXER NO LARGER THAN A DOMESTIC ONE. “FOR EVERY 100G OF WHOLE EGG, 25G OF YOLKS. THEN ADD SEMOLINA – 100% DURUM WHEAT FLOUR, NOT TYPE 00 FLOUR AS YOU OFTEN USED IN GREAT BRITAIN. 1KG FOR EACH 500G OF EGGS. THE SEMOLINA HELPS TO GIVE THE PASTA A GOLDEN COLOR”.

In the mixer, the dough that was stirred took on a beautiful color of a light yellow. And the durum wheat flour will give the pasta its roughness, an almost sandy composition that gives it character and helps to bind the sauce. I had the impression that the size of the semolina was important, that if it was too small, starches and granules would be damaged and this would lead to an indifferent dough. Luigi agreed that the blend of beans was crucial.

Each type of pasta needs a different blend of durum wheat to keep its shape. Take for example the wide flat strips of pappardelle. Their size means that they need more cooking, so they have to be strong. For pappardelle I use only 80% of Italian durum wheat. The rest comes from outside, from wheat with a higher gluten content. I read somewhere that the Chinese call gluten “the flour muscle”. Add it to water and the gluten proteins bind together creating a mass of elastic tension.”

Up to this moment the dough was ready. It started out in the mixer looking like a mass of yellow rags, but by the time it was pulled out it looked like a giant lump of Play-Dogs. Maria took a large piece and cut it into squares using a two-handled blade.

"Until now we have tried to keep the pasta light”, explained Luigi. “We try to do it until it reaches the plate. It should contain a "void" so that it absorbs the gravy".

MARIA AT WORK

He lifted the dough. It had small holes, dents and craters inside. “If we press these holes, the pasta won't have that lightness. As we shape and roll it out we need to be extremely careful to keep the air openings within the dough – as you would if you were making cream puff dough."

Maria took a square of dough bigger and thicker than a telephone directory and ran it through the rollers repeatedly. Each time she came out longer and more compact. She began folding the dough between each roll, like folding a blanket. Her movements had a determined rhythm – fold, pass, fold, pass – and narrowed the gap between the rolls, until the dough transformed from the telephone book it was, to a racing track.

Maria wrapped it all with a concert of gestures – above and behind itself, spreading semolina every time – until she got a square piece again; then she divided it in half, crushed them and joined them. Finally he pronounced the right density achieved, with the right air openings in the folds. The dough was ready to be cut into its shape.

The cutting machine was automatic but not much larger than the hand-cranked models people used at home. The long, thin layer of dough was fed in from the top and came out at the bottom in rows of flat stripes, like the fringes on cowboy jackets. Maria placed a thin metal stick under the fringes and lifted it up to the metal drying rack, which rotated four floors in two rows. The stick fit ingeniously between the grooves of the drying rack. When it was full she Maria she simply pushed it to the next door, into the drying chamber and pulled a couple of switches, released a loud hum from the turbine.

I wanted to know how much importance Luigi attaches to the drying process. “It's the key part,” he replied. “If the drying goes wrong, you destroy all the attention you put into making the pasta”.

The drying process removes moisture from the pasta. I was wondering how much that affects the ability to suck up gravy. Luigi explained that, rather than laying the pasta down to dry it – as the others do – he hangs it up. “That's the most important thing, it keeps it porous. My pasta is so porous that if you leave it near the cheese, it will absorb the smell!”

“Why is hanging pasta better than laying it down?”

“The crucial factor is the air that circulates around the dough, which allows moisture to be released gradually. It shouldn't happen too fast or too slowly. It's a delicate balance."

“I've heard from some that you should start drying on a high temperature, to adjust the color and proteins, and then reduce the temperature.”

"Hmm, still experimenting." Luigi looked at me carefully, from his glasses, a bit like an owl. “For me so far the low temperatures and the long time work well.”

It worked fine for me too. Luigi made the most composed pasta he's ever touched: it was speckled with semolina, almost like bark to the touch. This and its superb color has made it truly alluring, something you want to cook and eat as soon as your eyes fall upon it is certainly a sign of 'perfect food'.

It was almost late afternoon. The road – and our director's CD collection – awaited us. But Luigi was determined to let us have lunch with him. It was an offer I couldn't refuse. I knew that, this being Italy, the meal will turn into an event; and given Luigi's sympathy and charm, he would have transformed it into something special. I was not wrong! We sat down together with his entire family – his children, aunts and grandmother – for the banquet: ham, meat-stuffed olives, refreshing local white wine and syrupy hot red, of course his incredible pasta, simply dressed with lemon and parsley – all prepared by the young chef from the nearby hotel school who wore a high white chef's hair. The pieces of meat came from his own animals; the olive oil was homemade. It was hard to believe that Luigi had found the time to do all this, and work for the shoe factory, and make possibly the best pasta in Italy. Perfection requires this kind of devotion and dedication, and Luigi was a true inspiration.

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