Tortellini Bolognesi

Making Tortellini Bolognesi with Marta and La Madonna

Tortellini. People's reputations can be made or broken with the quality of their tortellini. There are a myriad variations on il tortellino (singular for the plural i tortellini), but no one makes tortellini like the Bolognesi. C`e il vero tortellino, the true tortellino. Satiny fresh egg pasta holds a juicy nugget of finely ground meats and Parmigiano-Reggiano accented with nutmeg.

The only respectable way to learn how to make la sfoglia, fresh pasta dough, is directly from an approved-by-the-Bolognesi professional pasta chef, called sfoglina, and to make it by hand, forget the pasta machine. Double-wrapped in a man's apron way too large for me and feeling a bit mummified, down the stairs I go into the sfoglina's room to meet Marta, La Maestra, the first sfoglina in Bologna to sell her tortellini in shops. This woman has been famous for decades. I am the new apprentice.

Now Marta's sanctuary is only one room that reminds me of a laboratory, brightly lit, windowless, and bordering on airless. (You may expire on the spot but the dough never, ever is permitted to dry out before shaping.) The lone sfoglina's companion is La Madonna, a statue of the Blessed Virgin. Two women in Italy long-suffering...would I be the third? There was only one decoration, a plain calendar nailed to the wall, although why it was there I never knew because one day was simply like the next, that's what a professional sfoglina's life is all about. Consistency. The culinary artist re-creates by hand her art today just like yesterday. One kilo of pasta follows another. The only difference is based on the demands of the store's and restaurant's patrons - do they want flat cuts or stuffed pasta? Tagliatelle, tagliolini, tortellini or tortelloni?

Standing next to Marta, I learn how to make la sfoglia, the dough, and roll it out so thin you can see through it, it's like a fine table cloth when we're finished. Then slightly drying the dough, then the lesson in making the proper filling followed by the lesson in shaping...Entering the third hour of my initiation into tortellini-making, my tortellini are definitely not passing Marta's test. I'm flunking. She keeps rolling her eyes...shaking her head and at times, sighing as she quickly sweeps my D and F-rated tortellini off the board...More instruction repeats itself..."Fold over the dough so it completely covers il ripieno (the filling) but don't press the ends together using too much pressure or the pasta becomes tough and doesn't cook through. Not enough pressure allows the pasta sheet to separate during boiling and the filling floats away...Be sure to create a rounded oval-shape tortellini, similar to a filled ring, so the boiling water can evenly cook the tortellino; if not, you'll eat a tender center with cardboard ends."

"How large do you expect the tortellini to be?" Marta asks in dialect. "Wrap it around your pinkie if you need to, a tiny tortellino must be created, non grande per favore (not large, please!)" And that's when I hear the story of The Creation of Tortellini. (Myths abound regarding this tiny stuffed ring of pasta, but this one is truly my favorite.) It seems an angel fell in love with Venus and was peeking through the keyhole of Venus's bedroom. As this goddess undresses, all he can see is her beautiful navel, and being enamored, he creates a special pasta so tiny that it would fit neatly inside her navel. Ecco-la! You have il tortellino. Since angels for making tortellini are not in particular abundance, young children are sometimes employed by their mothers to help shape tortellini - their fingers are tiny. Marta wanted tiny.

The atmosphere is tense. Our wooden board is scattered with pasta puzzle-pieces and the apprentice has a good coating of flour on her. An intervention is needed. Where's that angel now when I need him? Still chasing Venus? Perhaps a prayer to the Blessed Virgin would be better. Pray and learn. Keep folding, curling and twisting. Non cosi - e cosi!! (Not like that, like this!!)

After scores more tortellini and hours spent in silent benediction, I garner a soft smile and a nod from the ever-patient Marta. Among hundreds of
C-rated plump little fellows (which would have no doubt fit perfectly into my navel at this point), I've produced a few tiny perfectly shaped A-rated tortellini that Venus would be proud of. What triumph! Being precious to me, I want to bronze these tortellini and string them on a gold chain, a reminder to persevere, perhaps even diet one day. Since many Italians wear crosses on gold chains, why not substitute a few tortellini made beneath the benevolent gaze of La Madonna? Instead, I receive a compliment of sorts - the restaurant staff eats them.

Marta taught many pasta-making classes for me, and we were together until she retired. At almost 70 years of age, she arrived for class riding her motorino! Remaining her apprentice, I remember her watching me from the corner of her eye, sometimes with a soft smile and a nod.

For the basic egg pasta, the proportions are simple: 1 large egg for every 100 grams or 3.5 ounces flour. The flour used is your choice, but often a semola di grano duro, semola grind of hard wheat, is used. Simply multiply eggs and flour to make the quantity of pasta you need, usually x 3 or 4.

On a wooden board (sanded smooth but not varnished) make a well in a mound of flour, break open the eggs into the center and begin mixing until incorporated. Then knead until firm and smooth. Cover with a cotton towel or sheet and rest for an hour for the gluten to relax. Meanwhile, make il ripieno or filling. Roll out the fresh pasta with a wooden rolling pin, called a matterello, or roll out by machine. Cut the pasta sheet into small squares, about 1-inch, dot with il ripieno di tortellini, the filling, fold over, twist and close. Serve in broth, in cream sauce or tossed with Ragù Bolognese.