Davies says: “Once, at a sagra in Capalbio, we ordered rigatoni alla buttera. It’s a popular dish in southern Maremma, where butteri (cowboys – or in this case, their wives) are local icons. It arrived, steaming, in a flimsy plastic bowl, with a plastic fork, and we sat under fluorescent lights on the long, communal table with a cheap, cold bottle of Bianco di Pitigliano. The mosquitoes were out in full force and every now and then the breeze brought over a waft of smoke from the nearby grills, where cooks charred thick pork sausages and meat of all kinds. A blanket of pecorino cheese covered the pasta, and I swirled it in a little bit before taking a bite. I can still remember the incredible flavour. I gave a forkful to Marco and watched his eyes light up. ‘What do you think is in this?!’ I asked him. With every bite we tried guessing the possible combination of ingredients that made it so good. It was something salty. Something rich. Something umami. It was quite possibly the tastiest plate of pasta I have ever eaten, and every plate of rigatoni alla buttera eaten since has had to try to match that one. Afterwards, we found the list of ingredients of the dishes (it’s always posted somewhere at a sagra) and we realised our guesses were, for the most part, wrong. Marco was convinced its tastiness was due to chicken livers, but it was actually something so simple. Pork sausages, pancetta, the usual battuto of onion, celery and carrot. Wine. Tomato. I had to try this at home.”

Serves 4

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 brown (yellow) onion, finely chopped
• 1 carrot, finely chopped
• ½ celery stalk, finely chopped
• 1 garlic clove, chopped
• 30 g (1 oz) prosciutto, cut into thin strips
• 60 g (2 oz) pancetta, cut into thin strips or diced
• A few sage leaves
• 1 rosemary sprig, leaves chopped
• 300 g (10½ oz) pork sausages, casings removed
• 125 ml (4 fl oz/½ cup) dry white wine
• 200 g (7 oz) tomato passata (puréed tomatoes)
• 320 g (11½ oz) dried rigatoni (large tube-shaped pasta) or penne pasta
• Finely grated pecorino or parmesan cheese, for serving

Method

Pour the olive oil into a wide frying pan and add the onion, carrot, celery, garlic, prosciutto, pancetta and herbs with a pinch of salt. Cover the pan with a lid and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes or until the vegetables have softened and the fat is transparent. Add the sausages, crumbling the meat into the pan. Cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes, stirring to brown all sides. Pour over the white wine and let it cook down for about 5–7 minutes. Add the tomato passata and 500 ml (17 fl oz/2 cups) of water and bring to a simmer. Cook on low for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. 

Check for seasoning and add salt and pepper as necessary (this is a fairly robust sauce with lots of flavour from the prosciutto, pancetta and sausage, so you may not need any extra salt), then continue cooking for a further 10 minutes or so.

You should have a well-reduced, thick, rich sauce. Set aside. Put the pasta in a large pot of boiling, well-salted water. Boil until al dente, then drain and toss with the sauce. Serve with plenty of finely grated pecorino or parmesan cheese.

Anything but beef: Like most peasant dishes, there are multiple versions of rigatoni alla buttera. Once I started trying out the various recipes, the thing that struck me most was that each version was completely different to the next. Just like the many Tuscan recipes that are named ‘alla contadina’ (the farmer’s wife), the cowboy’s wife was simply using what she had on hand. Leftovers like prosciutto, pancetta, sausage, chicken livers – anything to add and ‘beef up’ a ragu that may not actually have had any beef in it. The irony is that although the butteri were raising beautiful Maremmana cattle – an ancient breed with long horns in the shape of a lyre and a greyish coat that looks like it has been rubbed with charcoal – they didn’t actually get the chance to eat beef themselves. These cattle (see overleaf) were tended for nobility, the only ones who could afford to eat beef.

Note: In Tuscany, sausages are always pork, have natural casings and are only flavoured with a few fennel seeds. Choose good quality sausages. Go for fresher sausages over aged ones (they will be softer, so easier to crumble and incorporate into the sauce). Make sure there is no gluten or anything else added that might affect the texture of the cooked sausages in the ragu. If you can’t find rigatoni, go for penne pasta.

Davies says: “This recipe calls for a creamy, pillowy polenta base, made with fioretto or fine- round cornmeal, quite different to the sturdy and firm one used in Polenta Crostini with MushroomsW. Much like fluffy mashed potatoes, this starchy, comforting staple needs love and care (and the right seasoning) for a good result. It takes a bit of time, but if you’re at the stove anyway, checking on the tomato sauce and preparing these clams, you won’t even notice having to give the polenta a stir every 4–5 minutes. Polenta should be well salted, but for some good seafood flavour you can add some grated bottarga to the polenta instead of salt.”

Serves 4

Ingredients

• 1kg (2 lb 3 oz) vongole clams
• 1 garlic clove, chopped
• 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 freshly chopped red chilli or dried chilli flakes to taste (optional)
• 400 g (14 oz) tomato passata (puréed tomatoes)
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 200 g (7 oz) fine polenta
• 125 ml (4 fl oz/½ cup) dry white wine
• 1 handful flat-leaf (Italian) parsley, leaves picked and roughly chopped
• 1 handful basil, leaves picked and roughly chopped

Method

Rinse the clams quickly under water, weed out any with crushed shells (tiny chips or cracks are usually fine) or that are open and don’t move when touched or squeezed. (Rule of thumb: if they are open before cooking, they’re dead. If they don’t open after cooking, they’re dead. Throw them away). Purge the clams, if necessary, for at least 1 hour. And regardless of whether or not you’re purging, do not skimp on step 5. In a saucepan, heat the garlic gently in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add the chilli and the tomato, along with about 250 ml (8½ fl oz/1 cup) of water, and season with salt. Let it simmer for 30 minutes or until slightly reduced. To prepare the polenta, bring 1 litre (34 fl oz/4 cups) of water to the boil in a deep, non-stick pot, add the salt (or grated bottarga) and the remaining tablespoon of olive oil. Pour in the polenta slowly while stirring (I like a wooden spoon, others like a whisk) to avoid lumps; stir for 1–2 minutes until the mixture thickens. Turn the heat down to the lowest setting possible and cook gently, covered (but giving a vigorous stir every 4–5 minutes) until it is creamy and silky and it begins to come away from the sides of the pan.

It’s useful to have a small saucepan of simmering, salted water nearby to add in spoonfuls if the polenta looks too thick or lumpy when stirring. Taste it too – the polenta should be completely soft, with no bite to it, at about 45 minutes. Cover with plastic wrap, ensuring that the plastic is touching the entire surface so that it doesn’t develop a skin. Set it aside while you prepare the clams. Place a frying pan or saucepan with a lid over high heat. When very hot, add the drained and cleaned clams, followed by the white wine. Let them cook for 1–2 minutes, then cover and let the steam open up the clam shells. Shake the pan occasionally.

After 1–2 minutes, check the clams – they should all be opened. At this point you can choose to remove the shells – pluck the clam meat out of their shells, discard the shells but add the meat and their juices, along with the herbs, to the tomato sauce. Or you can leave the shells intact, as I do – it looks better and I don’t mind getting my fingers dirty during the meal. Portion out the warm, creamy polenta into shallow bowls and ladle the clam stew over the top. Serve immediately. 

Polenta cooking tips: There are some brilliant shortcuts for cooking polenta. Italian food writer Anna del Conte has a technique where, after 10 minutes of stirring the polenta in a pot on the stove top, she transfers it to a buttered ovenproof dish and bakes it, covered, for 1 hour. While the top retains a crust (much like the crust that forms around the pot during stove top cooking), it protects the soft polenta underneath. In her book Simply Ancient Grains, Maria Speck suggests another solution that only requires remembering to start soaking ahead of time. Pour boiling water over the dry polenta and cover it with plastic wrap, ensuring that the plastic is touching the entire surface so that it doesn’t develop a skin. Let it sit for 8–12 hours (or even 2 days in the fridge). Then, when ready to cook, add more water, bring it to a simmer and cook, while stirring, for 10–12 minutes.

Davies says: “Acquacotta recipes will differ from kitchen to kitchen in Maremma, and partly the idea is to use what you have on hand. But when I think of acquacotta, this is what I have in mind – a thick, slow-cooked stew of vegetables, mostly tomatoes, poured over a slice of stale bread. There’s also a sunken egg ‘in camicia’ (as poached eggs are described in Italian, which makes me imagine the yolks, buoyant and still runny, dressed in oversized, floppy white shirts), nestled in the soup. It’s this soft-yolked egg that makes the dish. Break into it with your spoon and let the creamy yolk run into the soup. It’s warming, comfort food at its best. One day I had the luck to meet and be invited into the house of Ilena Donati, an elderly woman from Capalbio who spent most of her life working in kitchens. You could see by the way her eyes lit up while talking about food that it was her passion. She told me two secrets for making the perfect acquacotta – one was to leave out the carrot in the soffritto. Onions (and here there are plenty) are naturally sweet, especially when slow-cooked. Carrots are even more so and adding them would upset the balance. So, no carrot. The other was to cook everything piano, piano (slowly, slowly).”

Serves 4

Ingredients

• 1kg (2 lb 3 oz) fresh, ripe tomatoes, or 800 g (1 lb 12 oz) tinned whole, peeled tomatoes
• 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 4 large brown (yellow) onions, finely sliced
• ½ celery stalk, finely chopped
• 125 ml (4 fl oz/½ cup) dry white wine
• 1 freshly chopped red chilli or dried chilli flakes, to taste (optional)
• 1 litre (34 fl oz/4 cups) vegetable stock (see page 161) or water
• 4 eggs
• 4 slices stale Tuscan bread (or crusty white loaf)
• 50 g (1¼ oz/½ cup) grated parmesan or pecorino cheese (optional)

Method

Score a cross on the bottoms of the ripe tomatoes with a sharp knife. Place them in a pot of boiling water for about 30 seconds, then remove and plunge them into a bowl of ice-cold water until cool enough to handle. Their skins should be very easy to peel now. Chop them into quarters and remove the watery seeds. Chop the rest of the tomatoes into cubes and set aside. Heat a casserole pot with the olive oil over low heat. Add the onions and celery along with a good pinch of salt and let it cook, stirring occasionally, for about 15 minutes or until the vegetables are soft. Add a splash of water if you see the onions are sticking. Turn the heat up to medium and add the white wine, simmering for about 3–4 minutes to reduce. Pour over the tomatoes. If using tinned whole, peeled tomatoes, use a wooden spoon to break them up once in the pan. Add another pinch of salt and, if using, sprinkle over the chilli. Add half the stock (or water) and bring to a simmer, then turn the heat down to low and let it cook slowly, uncovered, for about 45 minutes. During this time, check on it now and then, and stir occasionally. The liquid should reduce to a nice, rather thick consistency, but there should still be enough liquid to be able to poach the eggs in it. Top up with the rest of the stock (or water) as necessary. Taste for seasoning and, if necessary, add salt or freshly ground black pepper. Then crack in the eggs, one by one, not too close together. If you prefer, you can crack the eggs first into a small bowl and then carefully tip the cracked egg into the soup. Poach them until the whites are cooked and the yolks still soft and runny (this can take anywhere from 3–6 minutes, depending on the pan used and the temperature of the eggs).

Remove from the heat. Place a slice of stale bread at the bottom of each bowl.

With a ladle, carefully scoop out the poached eggs one by one and place each on top of a slice of bread. Scoop out more soup and pour over the top to soak the bread. Sprinkle each dish with grated cheese (if desired) and let it sit for a minute or two to allow the bread to absorb some of the liquid adequately before serving.

Note: This is perfect for using up overly ripe fresh tomatoes in summer, but otherwise you can use tinned whole, peeled tomatoes as an alternative (passata or tomato purée is too smooth). Stale bread soaks up the liquid nicely and doesn’t get soggy. If you don’t have stale bread on hand, you can dry it out in a low oven until crisp (don’t toast – this changes the flavour of the bread too much). You can prepare the soup in advance, right up to the point just before you put the eggs in; this can be kept in the refrigerator overnight or you can freeze for later use. Just reheat with a splash of water and, once simmering, add the eggs.