Holly A. Heyser
To try Hank's recipe for ciciones, Sardinian semolina gnocchi, served with green chickpeas, click here.
I am fascinated by this little nub of pasta. It is a cicione, a type of Sardinian semolina-and-saffron gnocchi that is as golden as the sun, substantial without being leaden, and just downright beautiful.
I'm a big fan of trompe l'oeil in food—where something looks like something else, surprising (and hopefully delighting) the eater. In this case, the ciciones look like chickpeas. I first heard about them in what has become my pasta bible, the appropriately named Encyclopedia of Pasta. It says that the Sardinians, who use saffron a lot, added it to their pasta to make it look as if they'd used eggs.
Chew on that a bit: apparently in Sardinia it was cheaper to use saffron in pasta than eggs. WTF?! Saffron is the most expensive spice in the world, and even Gucci eggs from my local farmer's market aren't more than $4 a dozen. Pretty trippy, eh?
I decided to use both saffron and eggs, especially since I had some kick-ass eggs on hand—you know, the kind with the bright orange yolks? What? You've never had such glorious eggs? Get thee to a farmer's market and slap down the cash. I know it's spendy, but the difference is radical.
The fact that ciciones are a semolina gnocchi also intrigued me. Mostly I make potato gnocchi, and occasionally I make ricotta gnocchi, which are essentially ravioli gnudi, or naked ravioli—it's the filling without the pasta. Gnocchi, incidentally, simply means dumplings or "little lumps." The semolina gnocchi I've eaten have always been heavier than the potato kind, although they still should not be lead weights.
Turns out it was an exercise in Zen.
You start with a wettish dough that you knead well and then let rest for a long time—two hours or more. This lets the dough relax and results in a lighter gnoccho.
Holly A. Heyser
You then cut off a small piece and roll it vigorously between your hands until you've made a yellow snake the width of a pencil. You'll want to work the dough up and down as you do this to get it as even as you can.
Next, you cut off little pieces of the snake that are, hopefully, about the size of chickpeas. You can stop here and cook them, or you can go the extra step and gently roll them between your palms into a nice round shape. And if you really want to get fancy, you can then pinch one end of each gnoccho between your thumb and your first three other fingers—this dimples the bottom, making the pasta really look like a chickpea.
Doing this a few times is fun. Doing this with several pounds of pasta dough is less fun. But after making about 100 or so of these little gnocchi, I fell into that state I call the "pasta trance."