Letitia says: “If there are two more emblematic images of Italy than fresh laundry neatly pegged and pasta drying in the sun, then I cannot think of them. Panni (laundry) and pasta are fundamental parts of everyday life. A place as meticulously neat as Italy and as blessed with regular sunshine could not fail to be devoted to the art of laundry, and an art it is. This is a place where even children’s stuffed toys are laundered and hung up neatly by their ears to dry. For my mother-in-law, Monica, stendere i panni is a way of relaxing after a hard day’s work teaching unruly teenagers. Aside from the infamous Neopolitan laundry lines, one of the most striking Italian images I remember ever seeing is from the fifties – a black and white photo of row upon row of spaghetti drying in the sun. I cannot help thinking of this whenever I hang out my laundry; the rhythmic mirroring of pasta and panni.

“These pasta ribbons are a sort of pappardelle that don’t take themselves too seriously. Officially pappardelle are flat, broad strips of egg pasta dough, fatter than tagliatelle, which derive their name from the word pappare, a colloquial way of saying ‘to eat’. I cut them so fat I’m not sure a true Tuscan would even allow them to be called that, so I loosely call them ribbons. They are incredibly satisfying and somehow sensual to eat, folding and flopping in the mouth like great, flat fish, giving the occasional eggy slap to the cheek or chin as they are manoeuvred mouthwards. They are also instantly beautiful, tumbling yellow ribbons on a plate, and they feel to me – given that they are such a celebration of the egg – perfectly suited to this light and lemony spring combination. If you don’t want to make your own pappardelle or don’t have time to, you can easily buy dried/ready-made, or even buy ready-made fresh pasta sheets and cut them into thick strips. This is one of those wonderful pasta dishes in which the sauce can be made in the time that the pasta takes to cook (and in this case, even less).”

Serves 2 generously

Ingredients

For the pasta:

• 200g semola (semolina)
• 2 eggs

For the sauce:

• 4 tablespoons mascarpone
• 3–4 tablespoons grated Parmesan
• zest of 1 small lemon and a little of its juice
• a handful of parsley, mint, wild fennel and/or marjoram, roughly chopped
• a couple of handfuls of small, fresh broad (fava) beans
• a good glug of extra virgin olive oil
• salt, to taste

Method

Make the pasta dough by placing the semola in the bowl and add the egg to the centre. Using the tips of your fingers start to stir, breaking the egg and using your fingertips in a whisking motion to mix everything together. Once the mixture begins to form large flakes you can start to press and knead the dough with your hands and bring it together to form a rough lump. Now remove it from the bowl, set the bowl aside somewhere and start to knead properly on your clean work surface. 

Knead well and fairly vigorously, pushing the dough away from you with the heel of your hand and then rolling it back inwards. Turn the dough slightly and repeat the process. You should end up with a smooth, silky lump of dough with no dry or flaky bits. The beauty of making pasta is that it is the opposite of making pastry, none of the nerve-wracking delicacy. Pasta dough likes to be treated with force. Use the dough to pummel out your frustrations of the day.

Wrap the dough in cling film (plastic wrap) and leave to rest at room temperature for at least 20 minutes. 

In a bowl, mix the mascarpone with the Parmesan, lemon zest and a good squeeze of its juice. Season well with salt and add most of the chopped herbs. Taste and adjust accordingly.

Bring a deep pan of water to the boil, add the pasta and cook until just al dente (this will take only a couple of minutes). Cook the beans at the same time in the same water. If they are fresh and small they should take the same time as the pasta, just a minute or two; if you are using dried pasta you will need to wait until just a minute away from it being al dente to toss in your beans. Drain, reserving some of the pasta cooking water.

Let the mascarpone down with a little of the reserved pasta water, and then toss everything back in the pan and stir until creamy. Add the olive oil and stir/toss again until shiny and creamy. Taste and adjust for seasoning and serve with some extra herbs sprinkled on top.

Letitia says: “Breadcrumbs are everyday magic. The only thing better than fresh crusty bread is crispy fried breadcrumbs or fat-toasted croutons, chewy inside and fat-soaked and crisp on the outside. If you are lucky enough to have leftover bread don’t ever throw it away. Guard it closely; it is precious kitchen treasure. This is something every Italian cook knows well. Stale bread can form both the base and substance of many a classic Italian dish, from ribollita to panzanella. In such dishes, it is not always simply a filler or a texture-giver, it’s often the best bit of the whole dish. When you’re eating a panzanella, for example, is it the tomatoes you’re fighting for, or the chunks of chewy, oil-soaked bread?

“In this classic dish, loosely based around the Sicilian spaghetti con la mollica, golden, garlicky crumbs provide both nutty, toasty flavour and crunchy texture, and replace the need for grated cheese (in Sicily they were often referred to as poor man’s cheese). The addition of wild fennel is something often seen in Sicily, where it grows as prolifically as here in Sardinia. It adds a wonderful sweet herbal element to the dish, but if you can’t find it use a handful of chopped parsley.”

Serves 2 as a main course

Ingredients

• 200g spaghetti/linguine/bucatini
• 6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus extra to serve
• 60g bread (best with sourdough/ciabatta or focaccia), blitzed to crumbs in a food processor
• 2 garlic cloves, finely sliced
• 8 anchovy fillets 
• good pinch of dried chilli (hot pepper) flakes
• zest of 1 small lemon
• a few fronds of wild fennel, finely chopped, plus extra to serve
• salt, to taste

Method

Bring a pan of well-salted water to the boil and drop in your pasta.

Meanwhile, heat half of the oil in a heavy saucepan. Drop in the crumbs and fry, stirring continuously over a medium heat until golden all over (about 5 minutes). Scrape out the crumbs, leaving them to drain a little on a piece of paper towel.

Wipe out the pan and add the second batch of oil. Fry the sliced garlic for a minute until lightly golden. Add the anchovies and stir them well until they melt. Remove from the heat, then add the chilli flakes, lemon zest and chopped fennel.

When the spaghetti is cooked (usually aim for 2 minutes less than the packet instructions), drain it, reserving a small cup of the cooking water.

Add the spaghetti to the pan with the sauce and place it back over the heat. Add a good splash of the cooking water and toss the pasta until you get a good amount of shining sauce. If it looks dry, add a little more oil or a little more water. Once you’re happy and things look slick and juicy, taste and adjust the seasoning, then add the crumbs, a slosh more oil if desired and toss once again.

Plate and finish with an extra drizzle of oil and a few extra fennel fronds, if you like. Have a large glass of wine.

Letitia says: “One of the best ways of cooking wild asparagus that I know, here the spears are braised down to a rich, pond-green mulch into which plentiful butter and Parmesan is melted, and then used to coat the pasta.

“If you cannot find wild asparagus, cultivated is fine – just try to choose English, skinnier stems. As this involves a foraged ingredient, and I never know how much I can get hold of, I adjust this recipe accordingly. If you have a healthy quantity of asparagus and want to taste it in its purity, by all means leave out the tomato.”

Serves 2 as a primo

Ingredients

• about 150–200g asparagus
• 200g pasta of your choice (I use malloreddus)
• 4 tablespoons olive oil, or as needed
• 1 small white onion, finely sliced
• 1 small dried red chilli, crumbled, or a pinch of chilli (hot pepper) flakes
• 3 or 4 small, sweet tomatoes, diced (optional)
• splash of white wine (optional)
• 40g butter
• 40g Parmesan or pecorino, finely grated, plus extra to serve
• salt, to taste
• fresh marjoram, to garnish (optional)

Method

First wash your asparagus well. Cut it into 2.5 cm (1 in) pieces and set any woody ends aside.

Put a pot of salted water on to boil for the pasta, adding the discarded woody bits of the asparagus to flavour it. Once boiling, fish out the asparagus ends and then drop in the pasta. Cook the pasta until it is just al dente.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a sauté pan over a medium heat and sweat the onion, asparagus and chilli for a good 10–15 minutes or so, until soft and beginning to fall apart. Add a splash of water and continue to cook down, slowly, until the asparagus is almost completely soft. Add the tomatoes and cook again until everything is mushy and the asparagus is completely tender, adding a little extra oil or water if necessary (you can add a splash of white wine here, if you prefer). Taste and season with salt.

Drain the pasta, reserving a little of the cooking water. Add the butter to the sauce, along with the drained pasta and the Parmesan/pecorino. Add a little pasta cooking water and continue to cook for a minute or so, stirring gently, until the sauce is creamy and coating the pasta evenly. Serve, sprinkled with extra cheese and a few marjoram sprigs (if using).

You can make this without the tomatoes and cook the asparagus less for a fresher flavour and to keep the spears intact, if you prefer.

Variation: wild asparagus and bottarga pasta by Luigi

An excellent dish I ate made by my honey-making friend Luigi. Follow the recipe for the asparagus pasta above, leaving out the tomato. Once you have drained the pasta and added it to the pan with the braised asparagus, add 3 tablespoonfuls of finely grated bottarga and a little extra water. Stir and toss well until creamy, season and serve.