So what if it promotes healthy bowel movements. And who cares that skilled Italian chefs say this is how it should be cooked. I will always loathe al dente pasta.
The term “al dente” throughout Italy means “to the tooth.” On the plate it translates to pasta of any cut that’s been plucked from boiling water sometime before it turns fully tender. Depending who’s guarding the pot, what you typically end up with is semi-firm macaroni that sticks wickedly to your pricey fillings and crowns better than it does to nonna’s kitchen wall.
Yet unconditional love exists for this disputable texture, especially among celebrated chefs like Accursio Lota, who seized the world championship in the 2017 Academia Barilla Contest.
A native of Sicily and owner of Trattoria Cori Pastificio in San Diego, he conjured up seafood carbonara for the competition. A thick cut of spaghetti was used, sporting just enough bend to wow the judges.
“If al dente is cooked correctly, I feel 80 percent of people will like it,” said Lota, emphasizing that his take on pasta al dente differs from that of other chefs.
“Some chefs like to keep the core white and raw. I like pasta as soon as that white disappears.”
The rewards, he added: “Sauces stick better, and the pasta will digest more easily.”
Nutritionists largely agree that al dente pasta carries a lower glycemic index because the starch granules are retained by the gluten. As a result, they assimilate into the body gradually compared to well-done noodles, and by some claims, give you less gas.
Even so, as a foursome with a coveted reservation at the acclaimed Babbo in New York’s Greenwich Village some years ago, a few of us could barely finish our varied pasta dishes due to overly firm noodles even Lota would eschew. It was right then and there I concluded that pasta cooked to such a degree of un-doneness is for pretentious snobs—just like those who turn up their noses at steaks cooked two seconds past rare. (I’ll take the spike in blood sugar from my noodles and a richer char flavor on my medium steak, thank you.)
My dear aunt and world traveler, Ann Blask, concurs. Having grown up in an Italian-American household in Buffalo, N.Y., she detests pasta served from trendy commercial kitchens.
“In the 50s and 60s, the term ‘al dente’ was not in vogue. We didn’t need a knife to eat our pasta, whether it was penne, rigatoni or homemade fettuccine. The only pasta I order in restaurants is angel hair. And though I love rigatoni, I wouldn’t dare risk it,” she said.
Words from a convert
Chef Shane Solomon of Philadelphia’s lauded Pizzeria Stella once preferred fork-tender pasta, much like Auntie and I still do. But his perspective changed after finishing culinary school some years ago. Admittedly, he makes a convincing case in favor of al dente.
“Whether it be pasta or grains, it’s important that you’re able to pick out the individual pieces rather than if they’re all cooked to the same level of mush. To have that bite in each piece is a more satisfying experience.”
I get his drift. It would be like eating a salad and reveling in a few crisp lettuce leaves one mouthful at a time opposed to pulsing them in a food processor and then dumping the mulch onto your plate.
But still.
Solomon acknowledges that al dente pasta is an acquired preference, even though he sees only “low percentages” of customers who actually request it well-done. That is apparent testimony to his method of making pasta, which is from scratch. He then dries it extensively to a toothsome texture and cooks it just so – in styles that include Pomodoro and lamb Bolognese. His dishes have earned top mentions in Philadelphia Magazine and Esquire Magazine.
“For some,” he said, “you have to experience a life of eating to develop a palate for al dente pasta. I’ve definitely grown an appreciation for it.”
Fantasy cooking times
My aunt terms the cooking directions for commercial dried pasta as “fantasy times.” She believes those brief, unrealistic boiling instructions shown on the boxes are geared for busy mothers who want to get quick meals onto their tables.
“Last week I was making pasta primavera salad using small elbow macaroni. The instructions said to cook for four minutes. The total time ended up being 16 minutes,” she noted.
For dried rigatoni sitting in her larder, the directions state to boil for 10 minutes. “Let’s get serious. It will be as chewable as beef jerky.”
Private cooking instructor Lisa Banks of Los Angeles says she too always exceeds the suggested boiling times for all cuts of dried pasta, citing that for cuts such as penne and farfalle, the directions run as short as “seven inadequate minutes.”
She added, “Most of my clients aren’t fans of al dente pasta—and some are highbrow types. Although everyone I know doesn’t want overcooked noodles either. It seems like these brand-name corporations want us to develop a taste for elastic.”
The secret formula
Not necessarily so, according to Lota, who learned after winning the Barilla contest how big-name pasta companies calculate the cooking times.
They’re based on the sizes and cuts of the pasta, and the approach is pretty much identical to the telltale sign Lota looks for when determining when pasta is ready to glide adroitly through his lips.
“The testers take a noodle and put it between two pieces of glass. Then they press the glass pieces together. If it’s slightly white inside, it’s not good yet. But as soon as the white disappears and the inside looks a little softer, it’s good. There’s a very fine line between under-cooked and al dente,” he emphasized.
Yet for those of us stuck in what might be subconscious memories of eating cottony pasta as toddlers with only a couple of teeth in our mouths, it’s hard to let go of that culinary nostalgia. At least for now, I’ll keep my pasta boiling a hell of a lot longer than what the al dente advocates suggest.
Al dente pasta is for those who are fond of a chewy, pasty substances in their mouth. In my opinion, it’s as nasty as food can get.
As a true Irish lass, I’ll leave that al dente stuff to the Italians.
As a true Irish lass, I’ll leave the al dente stuff to the Italians.
Hmm…I cook by the box directions but test it first. Any white and I keep cooking. I rarely need to cook it over the time. Mushy pasta is worse than undercooked in my opinion.
One more word on pasta cooking, though off topic. Recipes that direct you to add uncooked pasta to your soups are actually directing you to ruin your lovely soup that you labored over for hours. Never do it! You’ll end up with a nasty, starch laden broth, unfit for human consumption.