Made with love- Frappe for Carnival

The sun had quietly set, slipping through the shingles of the surrounding houses.  Rome slowly revealed itself, lit up like fireflies in the not too far distance.

We’re inside and already have on a couple of very old school aprons. The fireplace was crackling and the place smelled of seared beef, garlic and pecorino cheese.

Stefano’s mum pulled out a big piece of wood from the cupboard and set up her station. She laid the board down on the table and beside it, a wooden rolling pin about the width of the table. She pulled out a bag of 00 flour, a couple of eggs and a fork.

I was about to learn how to make a traditional Italian pastry from a real Italian woman.

We landed in Rome around 3pm yesterday. Airports do a great job of hyping up a city. As we walked through it trying to find the train, we were greeted with all the great sites of Rome: Coliseum, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, St. Peter’s Basilica…As someone who’s never been, I found myself getting even more excited.

We caught the train out and half an hour later, we were met at the station by Stefano, our old roommate from Paris.

After living in Paris at Crimée for almost 6 years, he just recently moved back to Rome to be with his family.

Our plan was to stay with his family and spend three and a half days in the Eternal City.

While driving, Stefano explained that for dinner, his mum was going to show us how to make a few dishes.

We were thrilled.

His mum is a short, cherry woman, animated and exuberant almost exactly the way I imagine Italian mums to be.

She pulled us into a hug when we met, planting kisses firmly in both our cheeks.

She looked deeply into my eyes as she worked the eggs into the flour on her board, her Italian going right through me.

I smiled and nodded along, looking over at Stefano every now and then for the translation.

Watching her work was such a pleasure. She started with some flour on the board, made a well and cracked in two eggs.

Stefano’s mum working her magic. The beginnings of frappe, a special Italian fried pastry made for Carnival

As she began to whisk the two together with a fork, Bruce nudged me.

“Did you see how much flour she had?”

“Err..some? Honestly I don’t think it really matters…”

She continued to work the dough, adding in a little more flour. A splash of olive oil. A little more. She stroked the dough as she worked it, no doubt noting it consistency. Stefano tells us his mum never uses a recipe.

She stepped away from the dough and gestured me toward the board. I began to knead it, a little unsure of what she was looking for.

Stefano told me, “Until it comes together.”

Once it did, she pointed to the massive rolling pin. I started to roll it while she turned her attention to the braised artichokes and roast on the stove.

The dough was extremely elastic, and every inch I rolled out stretched just as quickly back. I felt like it needed a more time for the gluten to relax, but Mrs. Antonetti felt otherwise.

“Stronger, Stephanie!” Stefano translated, laughing.

I rolled up sleeve, determined to maximize this dough. A little more than 7 minutes later, the dough finally relaxed a little and increased about four times its original size in area.

Happy, I called over Mrs. Antonetti. “Buono?” I asked. It was the only non-food Italian word I knew.

She shook her head, putting her index finger and thumb closer together. It needed to be much thinner.

I continued, determined. It had been a long time since I’ve rolled anything by hand. At Robuchon we always used a sheeter, for consistency and efficiency. It felt really good to be working by hand, and working at home again- even if it wasn’t my home.

My dough thickness finally gets the approval from Mrs. Antonetti, and Stefano demonstrated how to proceed.

“Actually, there are usually two schools of thought on how to make frappe,” he explained while he cut strips with a scalloped pastry wheel, “You can either roll it really thick or really thin.”

Thinly rolled frappe dough cut into strips

He cut the strips into medium sized diamonds, “We always make it thin so when it fries, it’s very light. We only make this for Carnival. You will see tomorrow when we go to the pasticceria, every place has their own version.”

Frappe, cut simply into diamonds

Stefano put a cup of sugar into the Italian version of the Magic Bullet to pulverize into icing sugar. We heated up a pot of oil and set up the frying station. A plate lined with paper towels, a large bowl and beside that, the icing sugar all ready in a sifter.

Frappe fry station mise en place

Frappe being fried up!

“First, fry it. Not too much colour. Then onto the plate, and then in the bowl. Put some icing sugar on top. Repeat.” Stefano explained.

We couldn’t wait to finish frying the whole batch before we sampled one. They were light and airy no doubt, and crumbled gently in your mouth. The dough itself was not too sweet, and relied wholly on the icing sugar to flavour it.

In about half an hour, we had a whole bowl of frappe, and the kitchen smelled wonderful. Surely enough, the smell drifted outside and shortly after, Stefano’s sister came over from next door. She had a few pieces and shared a few pieces with her daughter. Stefano’s brother in law came over as well and dipped his hand in the bowl.

All in a couple hour’s work. Freshly made frappe

Finally, Mrs. Antonetti tried one. I awaited Stefano’s translation but instead, she pinched my cheeks and exclaimed,

“Buono!”