Al dente.
Few phrases cause as much duress as this snippit of Italian. Its literal translation, “to the tooth,” hardly helps in the matter.
For those versed in the ways of Bolognese, al dente is the point at which pasta reaches perfection, holding onto just enough firmness to resist a bite without struggle. Pull it from the water a few seconds too soon and the pasta will briefly stand firm, too late and it will collapse listlessly.
The understanding of this is far from universal in this country. Too often, restaurants send out improperly cooked spaghetti, ravioli or fusilli — which makes the neatly prepared dishes at Park Place in Lakeport all the more remarkable.
“I don’t time it anymore,” said chef Francisco Cervantes, a 15 year veteran at the downtown destination. “It’s second nature.”
At Park Place, the fettuccine drapes around the fork invitingly. At the same time, the flat pasta is — well, substantive may be the best way to describe the term al dente. There is just enough opposition, just enough heft. And it supports the sauce (in this case a neat pesto) without wallowing.
While the chef tosses this off as habit, he admits there is a lot more going on behind the scenes.
Cervantes and his team prepare their pasta in house using dough from durum wheat. It’s a dough formed from this semolina flour, water and sometimes egg, but requires the same amount of finesse as pastry or souffle. On warm, parched days, for example, kitchen staff must add a little more liquid, doing so by feel. If one batch dries quicker than another, they must pay attention as it bobs in the boiling water.
“There’s a lot more to it,” Cervantes said. “You have to keep your eye on it while there are a dozen things going on, you have to judge.”
If something doesn’t feel right while he is kneading the dough, if he spots a pot tipping past this desired point, Cervantes will toss it all and start over again.
“They get mad at me,” he said, referring to the kitchen staff worried about dinner rush, “but I gotta do it.”
So pasta is more demanding than it appears. Although the differences are marginal, fresh pasta needs more attention while cooking, as it generally reaches al dente quicker than dry. Even for small orders pasta requires a large pot. If crammed into something too small, starches leeching into the water will make for a tacky mess. If hurried, the timing will be thrown off. Pasta needs rapidly boiling water and a slow, gentle nudge into the pot.
And then there’s the matter of shape.
The stuff almost requires a dictionary. There is lumache, conchiglie, stelline, agnolotti, anellini, manicotti and dozens more shapes, each meant for a specific type of sauce or purpose. Some respond to baking, others bulk up soups.
But always for boiled pasta there is that elusive al dente. Even Cervantes is not certain how to define it, pointing out that some people are taught to remove it a fraction earlier or later than others, all certain they are on the mark.
“It varies according to the person,” he said, reiteratng the tight margin for error. “We just try to keep it the same — consistent.”
And consistency comes second nature to Cervantes.
Dave Faries can be reached at 900-2016
