Pasta Alla Norma was scribbled onto a grease stained napkin by a woman named Agata in her kitchen in Catania, two streets back from Via Etnea. She handed it to me like it was a receipt, then went back to crushing tomatoes with her hands. I still have the napkin. It lives in a drawer next to my one good chef’s knife with the wonky handle.
The Kitchen Behind Via Etnea
Agata ran a small homestay above her son’s barbershop. Three rooms, one bathroom, breakfast included if you wanted it, which you did. She wore a faded blue housecoat the whole time I was there and never once took off her gold earrings, not even at the stove.
The kitchen was narrow. A two burner gas hob, a window that looked onto a courtyard where someone was always hanging laundry, and a small wooden table where she sat me down on the second night and said she was going to show me how to do this properly. Her words. Not mine.
She corrected me twice in the first five minutes. I tried to slice the eggplant too thin. She slid the knife out of my hand and cut thicker rounds, almost half an inch, and told me thin slices go limp. Then I reached for a wooden spoon to stir her tomatoes and she stopped me. Hands, she said. Use your hands to crush them, the spoon bruises the basil later.
What the Dish Actually Is
Pasta alla Norma comes from Catania, on the eastern side of Sicily under the shadow of Mount Etna. The story goes that the Catanese playwright Nino Martoglio tasted it sometime in the early 20th century and shouted that it was a real Norma, comparing the plate to the opera written by his fellow Catanese Vincenzo Bellini. The name stuck. The city took it as a point of pride.
Agata told me a version of that story while the eggplant was draining. She also told me the things tourists get wrong, and she counted them on her fingers like a list of small crimes. Spaghetti. Regular ricotta. Parmesan. Baking the eggplant to make it healthier. None of those, she said. The pasta is short and ridged so the sauce can grab on. The cheese is ricotta salata, firm and salted and grated like pecorino. The eggplant is fried in olive oil until it goes deep gold. That is the whole point.
Bringing Pasta Alla Norma Back to My LA Kitchen
I flew home with the napkin folded inside my passport and made it for the first time the following Sunday. It was raining, which never happens here in June, and the kitchen window fogged up while the oil came to temperature. I had Lucio Battisti on the speaker because it felt like the right thing.
For the ricotta salata I go to Claro’s, the old Italian deli in San Gabriel. They keep a wheel behind the counter and the man who slices it for me always asks how much and then cuts a little more than I asked for. For the tomatoes I use tinned San Marzanos. I do not bother with fresh ones here. Even in August, the canned ones win for this sauce. That is an opinion I will defend.
The eggplants come from the Sunday farmers market on Hollywood Boulevard. I look for ones that feel light for their size, with tight shiny skin. Heavier eggplants are full of seeds and water and they fight you in the pan.
What I Used
- Two medium eggplants, sliced into half inch rounds
- Kosher salt for drawing out the liquid
- Extra virgin olive oil, a generous amount for frying
- Three cloves of garlic, smashed
- A tin of whole peeled San Marzano tomatoes, crushed by hand
- Fine sea salt for the sauce
- A big bunch of fresh basil, leaves torn and stems kept
- A pound of rigatoni
- Ricotta salata, finely grated, with extra at the table
Inside the Pan
The eggplant sits in the colander for forty minutes with salt sprinkled between the layers. Beads of dark liquid start to form on the surface, which is the bitterness leaving. You rinse, you press dry between paper towels, you press again. Wet eggplant in hot oil is a small disaster. I learned that the first time I made this. The oil spat across the stovetop and I spent twenty minutes cleaning it.
Into the skillet. The oil shimmers at around 350 and the slices go in one layer at a time, no crowding. The cut surface seals almost immediately. Inside, the flesh is collapsing into something custardy and gold while the outside crisps. You turn each round once and lift it out when the second side is the colour of toasted hazelnuts. Three minutes a side, maybe four. Salt them while they are hot.
The sauce is simpler than it has any right to be. Olive oil, garlic, the basil stems, two minutes until everything is fragrant. Then the tomatoes go in with their juice. They hiss and settle and start to break down. Twenty five minutes at a low simmer, the sauce going from raw red to glossy brick. Fish the garlic out at the end. Discard the stems.
Putting It Together
The rigatoni cooks one minute short of the package time. You save a cup of starchy water before you drain. Then the pasta goes straight into the sauce with a splash of that water and you toss it over the heat for a minute. The ridges grab everything. Off the heat, in goes two thirds of the eggplant and a heavy handful of torn basil.
Into warm bowls. Top with the remaining eggplant and a real snowfall of ricotta salata, more than feels reasonable. More basil. Eat immediately.
This is the only Italian recipe I make where I do not let people pick at the pan before it goes to the table. Agata was strict about that. Hot bowls, hot pasta, cheese melting on contact. She said cold Norma is a different dish, and not in a good way. I disagree slightly. Cold leftovers, eaten standing at the fridge the next morning. Better than I want to admit.
A Few Honest Notes
If you cannot find ricotta salata, a young pecorino works. Not great, but it works. Never regular ricotta. Never Parmesan. The salt and the firmness are the whole reason the cheese sits on top instead of melting in.
The first time I tried to lighten this by roasting the eggplant in the oven, the texture went leathery and the dish lost its richness. I do not do that anymore. Fry it. The oil is the point.
I think about Agata every time the kitchen smells like hot olive oil and tomato. The napkin is creased now and the ink has bled at one corner. I keep meaning to copy it onto something sturdier. I never do.
Pasta Alla Norma
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Lay the eggplant rounds in a colander set over a bowl or in the sink. Sprinkle the kosher salt evenly between the layers and let sit for 30 to 45 minutes until beads of dark liquid appear on the surface.
- Rinse the eggplant briefly under cold water to remove excess salt, then press each slice firmly between layers of paper towels until very dry. Wet eggplant will splatter and steam instead of frying.
- Pour 1.5 cups of extra virgin olive oil into a large deep skillet and heat over medium-high heat until shimmering, about 350 F. Fry the eggplant in batches, turning once, until deep golden brown on both sides, about 3 to 4 minutes per side. Lift out with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Season lightly with salt while hot.
- While the eggplant fries, warm 3 tablespoons of fresh extra virgin olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the smashed garlic cloves and the reserved basil stems and cook for 2 minutes until fragrant and just starting to color.
- Add the hand-crushed San Marzano tomatoes and 1 teaspoon of fine sea salt. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook uncovered for 20 to 25 minutes, stirring now and then, until the sauce is glossy and thickened. Fish out the garlic and basil stems and discard.
- Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil. Salt it generously, about 1 tablespoon per quart, then drop in the rigatoni and cook until just shy of al dente, about 1 minute less than the package directs.
- Reserve 1 cup of pasta cooking water, then drain the rigatoni. Add the pasta directly to the tomato sauce along with a splash of the reserved water. Toss over medium heat for 1 minute until the sauce coats every ridge.
- Remove from the heat. Gently fold in two thirds of the fried eggplant and a generous handful of torn basil leaves. Taste and adjust salt.
- Divide the pasta among warm bowls. Top with the remaining fried eggplant, a heavy shower of grated ricotta salata, and more torn basil. Serve immediately while everything is hot.