A walnut lunch with an orange finish

For the first 32 years of my life, walnuts, along with mince pies, brandy butter, figgy pudding, and the Queen’s speech, meant Christmas. A large bowl of them with an ancient nutcracker would appear on the slightly oppressive sideboard around the 15th of December. The bowl would then sit there, rather like the Queen herself, familiar, mildly depressing and collecting dust. From time to time my Mum would proffer it enthusiastically,’ walnut anyone‘ and crack one open. Occasionally the bowl would be brought to the table for with the cheese and someone, probably my Mum, would have one or two, and I remember my Dad juggling with walnuts. But mostly the bowl and its beige contents would sit there neglected, gathering more dust, and generally outstaying its welcome until it disappeared on about the 15th of February.

Every now and then I did crack one open, but that was only because our friend Misou had taught us the cracking one nut open by pressing the seam of it against the seam of another nut trick. Done correctly the shell would split neatly in two and if you were lucky you could pull out two perfect curious butterfly like halves. But what’s strange, is that even though I vividly remember cracking them open and the bowl perched on the sideboard getting dusty, I can’t for the life of me remember eating any walnuts, I’m sure I did, I know I did, I just don’t remember.

Vincenzo on the other hand is an experienced walnut (noci) eater, he is extremely proud of his capacity and speedy cracking skills. Up until the age of 12 he honed his skills eating almonds in Sicily, his maternal grandparents had a farm in Gelà where they grew tomatoes, artichokes, cotton and tended almond trees. Vincenzo and the cousins would position themselves under a vast sack of almonds stored on the raised wooden platform in the barn, poke a hole in the bottom of the coarse sacking and wheedle out almond after almond, cracking open the nuts a hammer. But then things changed, the family removed to Rome and soon after his grandparents left the farm, it was harder to find good almonds and Vincenzo shifted his allegiance to walnuts.

When we first met he was disturbed and perturbed that I didn’t touch the walnuts he bought, ‘Non ti piace i noci‘ ‘ you don’t like walnuts‘ he would ask with a quizzical expression and that slight air of superiority Italians often have when they talk about food (the superiority which used to drive me mad but I now nearly understand.)  I told him the story of the dusty nuts and showed him my cracking skills, which I think impressed him nearly as much as me recognising Lee Morgan playing the Trumpet on Art Blakey’s recording of A night in Tunisia (a guess and a gazillion points.)

At first I wondered if ignoring them had been the sensible choice. Even with the wonderful Walnuts we find here in Rome, the very best Noce di sorrento that arrive from Sorrento in Campania. it took me a while. Walnuts are particular things, creamy and with that wonderful oily, sweet, waxy texture but also slightly bitter and mildly astringent. Like meeting unexpected tannins in a glass of red wine, the puckery feeling, the slightly dry mouth, not unpleasant, just surprising, something I needed to get used to before I could really appreciate walnuts.

Which I did, not only becoming extremely fond of walnuts and the ritual of cracking a couple open after a meal, but also becoming nearly as diligent as Vincenzo at keeping the walnut bowl full.

And then I discovered walnut pesto a soft, delicate, nutty paste – cream if you like –  of walnuts, olive oil, butter and aged parmesan and I really fell for walnuts.

Our walnut pesto started life as an almost classic basil pesto using walnuts instead of pine nuts. We both liked the sweet, creamy, slight bitterness of the walnuts so much, we tried it again without the basil. During our third or fourth attempt Vincenzo suggested we added some butter, I was sceptical at first, but it works beautifully, the pesto is softer and creamier, which makes sense really, especially to the nut butter lover in me. I have since noticed Marcella Hazans suggests adding butter to her classic basil pesto.

We continued to tweak and try, and I kept illegible notes; a bit more oil; more cheese, parmesan and pecorino, just parmesan; more walnuts, less walnuts; blanching and peeling the nuts if they are older so darker and thus rather bitter. Until we arrived here, eccoci as Vincenzo would say, walnut pesto, pale and unassuming but a just delicious delicate, nutty walnut cream we spread on warm toast or stir into soft ribbons of fresh egg tagliatelle.

Of course there is nothing original about our recipe, walnut pesto and all the various walnut sauces (salsa di noci),- I have since found dozens of recipes some with parsley and basil, some with breadcrumbs, others with a little cream or yogurt – have been around for centuries. I’m told they make some wonderful walnut sauces in Liguria, especially Genoa where it is called tocco di noxe and eaten with a wonderful sounding herb filled ravioli called pansôti, but that’s another post.

I’m cautious about writing exact measurements for this recipe, walnuts vary from sweet to bitter depending on their age, as we know olive oil can be pungent and peppery or light and delicate, parmesan can be piquant, aged and seasoned or mild and soft, even butter is unpredictable. Suggestions rather than instructions feel more appropriate for this recipe. My advice is that you use my measurements as a loose template, that you start with 100g of walnuts halves and then experiment and balance your ingredients, adding a knob of butter, some oil, some cheese, tasting, added some more of something, tasting again, trying it on the pasta, making it again a week later and adjusting something.

I think this sauce works well with most long pasta but it is really wonderful with fresh egg pasta, its softer more absorbent texture holds the flavour of this delicate walnut pesto better. We like tagliatelle or fettuccine.

So there you have it, dusty and neglected to one of my favourites (and his too.)

Tagliatelle with Walnut pesto (or walnut cream)

We start making walnut pesto in June after summer solstice and the walnut harvest, the nuts are young, pale, still soft and just delicious. Later in the year. like now, when the nuts are older and maybe bitter, I blanche them in boiling water and peel them  – which is a right old faff but worth it, I’d say it’s pretty essential you blanche and peel packeted walnuts and walnuts in their shell really are best.

Last thing, this is another recipe in which you need to add some of the salty, cloudy pasta cooking water to the walnut pesto to loosen and thin it a little so it coats each strand of pasta. I scoop out a cupful just before I drain the pasta so don’t forget and pour it all way.

Serves 2 really generously with some pesto left over to have on toast.

• 100g shelled walnuts halves or pieces.
• 4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil olive oil
• A walnut sized knob (About 25g) of butter softened to room temperature
• 50g finely grated good (aged if possible) parmesan plus more to serve
• salt and freshly ground black pepper.
• 200g dried or 300g fresh tagliatelle

Making it by hand with a pestle and mortar

Crack the walnuts open

Unless they are very young and very fresh, drop the walnuts in boiling water, remove with a slotted spoon and quickly pull away the dark skin. Dry the nuts.

Crush and pound the nuts in the mortar with the pestle until they look like coarse sand. Now add the butter and work it into the nutty powder using the pestle, then add the cheese and grind into the mixture evenly using the pestle. Add the olive oil and beat with a wooden spoon. Taste, add more oil or cheese if you think fit, season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Making it with a food processor

Crack the walnuts open

Unless they are very young and very fresh, drop the walnuts in boiling water, remove with a slotted spoon and quickly pull away the dark skin. Dry the nuts.

Put the nuts, butter, olive oil in the food processor and process to a uniform, creamy consistency. Transfer to a bowl and mix in the cheese. Taste, season, add more oil or cheese if you think fit, taste etc……

Now

While you are cooking the pasta in lots of well salted, fast boiling water, put a nice big dollop (about 2/3 ) of the walnut pesto in the bottom of a warm serving bowl and dilute it with a couple of tablespoons of the water the pasta is cooking in.

Once the pasta is ready, drain it and add it to the bowl, toss the pasta with the sauce carefully (add a little more pasta water or walnut pesto if you think its necessary) the pasta should be loose and slippery and every strand well coated with the creamy sauce.

Divide between warm serving bowl with serve with more freshly grated parmesan on top and a good grind of black pepper.

After a beige meal, however good, we needed a bright finish.

A salad of sliced oranges, fennel, red onion and black olives dressed with salt and olive oil.