I have yet to come across olive oil that I really like. I am, to borrow from the oil industry parlance, unrefined (albeit in a more unflattering sense).* I wasn’t brought up to regard edible oil as having body, taste, or even smell. At home, the only categories that it fell under were new, used, and rancid. Until the Internet and cable came along, I thought the only oil worthy of appreciation was the kind that came with adobo and humba. Today I’m supposed to know better, but I still can’t claim that I have embraced olive oil.
There’s just something about the smell/taste of olive oil that ruins my palate (olives, in themselves, not at all). The higher its grade, i.e., the healthier it is, the more it turns me off. (FYI: Good olive oil is supposed to be bitter — live with it.) In any case, the salads I grew up with only had vinegar, coconut cream, or mayonnaise. The pasta had oil, certainly, but never in a starring role; that was reserved for the meat and cheese. These days even that is not enough. To be “authentic,” pasta demands cheese with a protected designation-of-origin status, like Parmesan or Pecorino. And cut from the wheel, if you please — not pre-grated. Never mind that S&R sells theirs frozen solid. Don’t they know cheese needs to breathe? Do you? I didn’t always.
Does any of this even matter? Is my spaghetti better now that I make it with olive oil and Parmesan? I like to think it is, which is to say that I’m not really sure. My father is very fastidious about food, but at least his attitude applies only to food that he grew up with. My familiarity with olive oil is more superficial. I only think it’s familiar because everyone on TV uses it (though Alton Brown uses ghee every once in a while). And yet the United States has the highest obesity rate in the world, with the latest report noting that the disease (as it is now classified) “has spread even faster among people with more education.” That doesn’t vindicate me in any way. But I can’t help wondering: What are the odds it’s olive oil that makes American food taste so good they just can’t help from eating themselves to an early grave?
Food means nothing without being directly experienced. That was why I had to try the bucatini with jalapeño and almond pesto that I saw on the Food Network channel the other day. It looked quite unctuous, if on the appealing side, the way lechon could make you shudder and salivate at the same time. To deal with the inescapable ingredient, I called on my old friend, garlic. Garlic does a good job of masking the smell and taste of olive oil. I’m not above deceiving myself. Others call it improvisation. Incidentally, the dish is supposed to have been concocted by Genovese seafarers who yearned for a taste of home but had to make do with less than traditional ingredients. I was very much in that spirit, yes?
We had no almonds, so for the pesto I used toasted walnuts and pecans, plus Parmesan and a bit more garlic than usual. Some honey, too, since I like a hint of sweetness in my pasta (feel free to disagree). Then I boiled a handful of bucatini, reserving some of the cooking water. (I’m getting fond of bucatini, by the way. It doesn’t taste as heavy as it looks.) Once drained, I tossed the noodles with the nut pesto (not all, obviously; just enough to coat the pasta) and seasoned to taste.
The closest to jalapeño I could get locally was finger chili (siling haba). I sauteed some (sliced — seeds and all) in a tablespoon of butter, added a little of the reserved water, and stirred until the liquids emulsified. Then I threw in the pasta and mixed it all up with more cheese before turning it onto a serving plate. For added crunch, some toasted pine nuts to garnish.
Does that dish look oily to you? Add more if you like. I have never been fond of “saucy” pasta anyway. But spicy it was, which I believe was the point of the dish. And it all came together with so little effort. It’s the perfect antipasto to get your guests fired up. And to finally use up that bottle of olive oil that’s been sitting in your pantry for so long. Admit it, you’re a Minola kind of person, too.
* “Unrefined” olive oil is what we know as virgin and extra-virgin. It is extracted from high-quality olives and undergoes no chemical refinement, hence purer and packed with more nutrients. If the label simply says “olive oil” or “olive pomace oil” (or even “pure olive oil”), it means that that oil was sourced from olives of lower quality and had needed to be refined — treated with solvents and subjected to high temperatures to neutralize its taste. «
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