Mrs M’s glasses, which were given to me when she passed away…
I love Italian nonnas.
When we moved into this house over twenty years ago, our neighbour Mrs M was already in her mid-70s. She’d arrived from Italy at the age of thirteen and had gone straight to work in the canefields of Cairns. She was sharp as a tack, stubborn as a mule and tough as nails – she used to trim the edges of her lawn with a cane knife (machete). I adored her.
Our house was a deceased estate that had been empty for nearly two years, which gives you some idea of the state it was in. There was no shower or inside toilet, the kitchen had 53cm (21″) of bench space – divided into three sections, and the front bedroom had layer upon layer of rotting carpet.
We were in our early 20s, and had borrowed money from everyone we knew to make the purchase price. We were also stupid. We laid a white tiled kitchen floor – because I liked how shiny and clean it looked – and spent $2500 of the $3500 we had allocated for furniture on an antique Kilim hall runner. We sat on beanbags for the first year.
Mrs M, bless her soul, took pity on us. She would bring over covered plates of pasta and peas, and vegetables from her garden, and figs from her enormous trees. She would make me espresso coffee strong enough to dissolve a spoon, and hem my jeans so that I didn’t have to pay $12 to the drycleaner. She taught me how to be a good neighbour.
And I grew to love the older Italians in our neighbourhood. They’re incredibly kind, brutally honest, and passionate about life.
. . . . .
Jump forward twenty years to last week when I was having a chat with Chicago John about his Zia’s tripe dish which traditionally began with a batutto.
Batutto is a soffrito which uses a specific type of Italian salted pork. I decided to see if it was available at the cheese shop. When I arrived, Johnny’s mum Rita and her friend Teresa were both there.
I couldn’t see anything marked as “batutto” in the fridge cabinet, but I did find guanciale, speck and pancetta. I asked the ladies if one of those would do.
No, no, no, batutto had to be made at home, using pork belly bought from a butcher in Campsie (not from a regular butcher, as the pork would be too lean).
What, I asked, was the difference? The guanciale, speck and pancetta were all salted pork products – couldn’t I substitute one of those?
The speck, I was told, was too smoky, the pancetta wasn’t the right flavour for tripe, and guanciale could only be used in Amatriciana sauce. A vigorous discussion then ensued as to whether Amatriciana sauce should or shouldn’t have onions in it.
As I said, I love Italian nonnas.
So I bought some guanciale, made from the jowl of a pig, and used it to create Spaghetti all’Amatriciana. My apologies, Teresa – the only recipe I could find included onions.
I followed this New York Times recipe very closely, substituting half a fresh cayenne for the dried chilli flakes. If you need guanciale or San Marzano tomatoes, Johnny carries them in his cheese shop, but ring first to check, as both items are frequently out of stock.
Here are the ingredients I used:
- 1 tablespoon oil
- 1 medium onion, very thinly sliced
- 3 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
- 100g guanciale, chopped into 5mm thick slivers
- 2 x 400g tins San Marzano tomatoes
- half a red cayenne pepper, chopped
- salt to taste
- ¼ cup (3 – 4 tablespoons) grated pecorino
- 400g dried pasta
The recipe only required a small square of guanciale, but the flavour was strong enough to permeate through the whole dish. Make sure to remove the tough rind before chopping it up. (More about guanciale here.)
It was a big hit with the boys – while I was taking the photo above, they ate the entire pot!
Fig Jam and Lime Cordial 
Love your story about Mrs M, Celia. And such pretty glasses of hers that you treasure. Spaghetti all’Amatriciana is one of my favourites… however, I haven’t made it as often in recent years, as Peter isn’t as keen. I might try your recipe and see if that wins him over! We had a win with baby spinach last night… ‘I really like these greens,’ he said. Yay!
Thanks Lizzy, she was a truly lovely neighbour. I was astonished how quickly this dish disappeared – and what a difference the guanciale actually made!
How wonderful to move into a house and have a treasure like that next door. Is the fig tree still there? I love the glasses – so pretty. I’m sure I’m offending other races but I think our post-war Italian migrants have been our best ever. Such honest hard-working people. I love the discussion about getting this pasta right. However it turned out, I’m sure all the nonnas would be very pleased with it. It sure looks good and I can understand why it disappeared fast xx
TWO big fig trees, Charlie, and our new neighbour Mark still shares them with us, so we’re very lucky indeed. I’m going to keep a stash of guanciale in the fridge – this was a really easy dish to make, and it’s good to have one that I know will be a definite hit with the wolves. :)
My favorite pasta sauce of all time, make a derivative of it almost every week, but now I find out I have been making a poor imitation – must get me some of that guanciale! (no onions usually in mine)
The tomatoes are just as important! There aren’t a lot of ingredients in this version, so they all have to be fabulous! :)
Real food is about passion Celia! And getting even just that small amount of meat right started a discussion that was obviously passionate too- I’m so glad you followed their advice :)
I wish we had neighbors like that, I think most people are too busy these days to care :(
We’ve always had wonderful neighbours, Becca, and I feel incredibly blessed, as I know it’s not always the case for everyone. The Italians are incredibly passionate about their food – it’s a sheer joy to be caught up in their enthusiasm!
We had an Italian nonna who lived across the road from us when I was a kid. She had no English at all (we had no Italian) but used to bring us into her kitchen and feed us whenever she got the chance – we loved her to bits!
Amanda, that must have been wonderful as a child! I know how much we loved it as young adults! :)
Love those glasses. My german family had the same discussions about pork products, very funny.
Thanks Meg. I’m sure the Germans would have very firm opinions about pork too! :)
So, basically, you’re telling me not to spend $1500 on a hall runner? Whoops… :P Just kidding. Your neighbourhood sounds so beautiful :) Friendly neighbours make all the difference! Ps, that pasta looks amazing – I don’t blame the fam for polishing it off so quickly haha.
Yep. Don’t spend almost all your budget one incredibly gorgeous piece unless you’re happy to sit on cushions for a year. And the wolves were savage with this one – I was gone five minutes (I’m slow, the light was bad and I was trying to get a good photo), and they’d eaten thirds. If there was more, they’ve have kept going!
Well…beanbags can be fun…Wow. o.0 That’s pretty…um…impressive…
what a great post celia..i loved hearing about your earlier life and your wonderful neighbours..i loved living in greece for the same reason..the people were always so kind and i learned so much from them..
the glasses and the recipe are both gems..oh..and i bet you still have the runner!
Hahaha…yes, I still have the hall runner! It will stay in the family now forever! Having neighbours like Mrs M taught me to be a better person – I will always be grateful for that…
What a wonderful start you had in your home. Mrs M sounds like such a wonderful lady. I hope when we have a house we have some lovely neighbours.
The pasta looks delicious! Lucky you at least had your photo bowl to eat.
Claire, I hope you get wonderful neighbours too! It makes all the difference. A house is just a pile of bricks otherwise. And I didn’t get to eat all of the photo bowl – Small Man took a third of that as well! I went out today and bought more guanciale – any dish that is so well received needs to become a regular!
I don’t have one bit of Italian blood in my veins, but over the years I’ve lived in many Italian neighborhoods – Unfortunately, I’ve never had a nonna teach me any Italian delicacies, but I did learn the importance that gardens play in life, and the respect one should have for them from several of my Italian neighbors – and I grew to love the habit of several who so valued their growing space that if they came up short, they were not above turning the front yard into a garden too. Ha – loved it!
Doc, one of the older Italians in our neighbourhood keeps chickens in their front yard! They still love their lawns though..
Spaghetti all’Amatriciana is one of my favorite dishes!!! I’ve never had it with batutto, only with guanciale. I wonder what that tastes like… They serve this dish at my husband’s restaurant with guanciale and a tomato sauce with red wine vinegar. It’s superb.
Emilie, the batutto was actually meant for the tripe dish which I didn’t make in the end. Does your hubby use San Marzano tomatoes? They’re amazingly rich..
Oh, sorry about that (this is what happens when you read posts before coffee…)
Yes, he uses San Marzano tomatoes. He uses them in all tomato based dishes. They really are amazing. I’ve been told that there are a lot of impostor ‘San Marzano’ tomato cans out there as there is no regulation in labeling. You can only tell the difference by tasting them or truly knowing your source. I hope this isn’t the case by you!
Emilie, thanks for the warning! We use the Mutti brand ones – they’re DOP authenticated which means they’re actually grown in the Valle del Sarno..
They’re incredibly thick and sweet…
Hi Celia, love your story. We too live in an old neighbourhood. When Maus and I bought in our street we were the youngest by 50+ years. The sad thing is, we are now the oldest:( All the original inhabitants have died and young families have taken their place. There are still some oldies in our neighbourhood and most of them are Italian. They have, as they have had for ever, their whole gardens planted with vegetables, grapes and olive trees. Its lovely.
Glenda, the dynamic of our street has changed enormously as well, but we’ve been blessed to have really lovely people moving in. If anything, it’s an even nicer place than it ever used to be! The Italian gardens are a sight to behold, aren’t they?
I think most nonnas would be nodding and smiling with your pasta dish. Well done.
I hope so, Karen. Although I suspect half of them will be shaking their heads, saying, “no onions!”. :D
Such a lovely story, and your pasta looks grand.
Thanks Michelle! It was lovely to have the opportunity to remember Mrs M.
I always wanted neighbours like that. Unfortunately mine were all very nervous about getting to know newcomers. Although we have always taken over special foods for the holidays and made ourselves friendly with them and now after 33 years they have become a little more free with their friendship.
Your story is beautiful as are the glasses she left you. And your pasta looks very delish!
Heidi, our neighbours are all busy, so we don’t live out of each others’ pockets, but there is always someone around to have a chat too. It really is a blessing!
If I was going to leave my lovely country solitude I’d want to move into your street! Aren’t we lucky to live in a country where we can share experiences from all over the world, and just in our own neighbourhoods if we just stop hiding behind fences…
I’m always intrigued by how different life is here than it was to when we lived in an apartment. Back then, our neighbour would wait behind his door until we had left before coming out, just so he wouldn’t have to run into us. I sometimes wonder if apartment living is too close for folks to feel comfortable getting to know each other.
What a beautiful story! You are certainly right about the nonnas. There is NO gray area with them. There is only one right way to do anything. :) I love it.
Maureen, thank you! You would have laughed, I saw both Teresa and Rita yesterday and told them I’d made the pasta sauce. The first thing Rita said was, “did you use onions?” :D
I love the detail of Italian recipes, so precise about the exact ingredients! A lovely story and a delicious recipe :)
Claire, they’re certainly hardline about it! They made me laugh so much – to me, all the little packets of salted pork looked exactly the same!
I also love Italian nonna’s. I love the story of your house – you were brave to purchase something with no indoor loo! And what a beautiful home you have created :)
Tandy, as I said, we were stupid. Thankfully God looks after the stupid, and it turned out to be the best purchase we ever made. :)
I wish that I knew your nonna. What a treasure! I’m fortunate enough to have a Canadian mother-in-law who I adore and would be my first pick if I ever had to be dumped on a desert island. We’d be rescued wearing palm frond frocks and having gained five pounds.
I’m also laughing at your white tile. We too bought the fixer from hell twenty something years ago. Talk about stupid… We moved in thinking a coat of white paint would fix everything. I even picked out what I thought was taupe carpet, turned out to be white. Two days after they laid it the bottom out of the hot water heater fell out. Then the cat got a kidney infection and the stove exploded. It’s all good now but it’s taken a while…
Maz
Maz, I sometimes wonder if anyone over the age of 30 buys a fixer upper. I think you need that skewed enthusiasm and youthful energy. I’m glad you got it all sorted in the end…
We often joke it was our dream house because we had to dream up the whole thing. :-)
Lovely story about Mrs M…I would love to have a neighbour like her one day, too. Amatriciana is one of my favourite pasta dishes….yours looked delicious!
Ali, I hope you get a neighbour like that too – she was the best! :)
Hehe Celia I’m going to bet that in some year’s time someone writes the exact same thing about learning to be a good neighbour from you! Hell, I’m not even your neighbour and you are so generous with me! :)
Darling, you’re an incredibly generous soul, I’d love to be your neighbour!
Lovely to see your beautiful glasses again Celia and what a heart warming story – thank you for sharing it. I can see that your home is bursting with loving memories from the past 20 years.
Lovely pasta dish too.
:-) Mandy
Mandy, thank you – there really is a lifetime of happy memories here. Both our sons have lived here all their lives. I used to joke that when I die, Pete can take me out the back and put me under the lawn. Now we don’t have a lawn, I’ll have to rethink that plan! :)
Celia! Wonderful story but…but! The glasses! Mum had exactly those as the “good” glasses when I was little. I am five years old again.
Rose, they’re gorgeous, aren’t they? How cool that your mum had them too!
What a wonderful glimpse into your personal history and influences. We are influenced by so many people during our lives, and it’s good to reflect on them and their contribution from time to time.
Oh. And I don’t have all of the precise ingredients needed for your recipe but I think I think I can make-do with what I have. I’m off to play in the kitchen! Tra-la-la!
Enjoy, Misky! I’m sure you’ll come up with something magnificent!
This was a lovely read, dear Celia! Those glasses look so pretty & that woman next door was also very special to you & she sure was a good & giving Italian woman! Lucky you two! :)
What a tasty pasta! I must make this soon! :) Yumm!
Sophie, she really was very good to us, and we were very lucky to have her! Thank you!
I just adore your memories of Nonna next door! Just gorgeous!! I’m so glad to hear that paesanella has guanciale!! We had a couple of really classic Roman pastas on our recent trip, where guanciale was the key ingredient. I was hoping there would be a good source in Haberfield!!! Thanks for sharing Celia ; )
No worries, I’m glad you’ll be able to get some. I’d never heard of it until last week, but it really does impart quite a distinct flavour!
Great recipe, and your story, memory of Nonna & her glasses are priceless :)
Thanks ED! She was priceless too! She had a strong Italian accent, with twinges of FNQ (Far North Queensland). She once said to us, “Darling, I no can work in the garden like I used to. Years ago I could go all day, now just four hours and I’m buggered!” (she was 76 at the time, as I pointed out to her..) :)
I believe we can all look back at some of the things we did when we were young and wondered what in the world were we thinking? But that’s all part of life and memories, however stupid, that we now fondly recall and cherish.
What did Rita say when you told her you had onion in your pasta dish?
Rita was delighted. Teresa stood there, shaking her head like the soup nazi from Seinfeld, and said, “No onions!”. :)
I will have to repeat what so many have said already, but I loved your story, and can relate so well to the wonderful stubbornness of Italian grandmas – and the machete to cut the grass is absolutely priceless!!!! I can visualize it….
made my morning capuccino quite special, this post of yours… ;-)
Thanks Sally! It was nice being able to share my memories of Mrs M with you all..
What a fabulous conversation to have been part of! I don’t think I’ll ever understand the small differences between the various products, but I can see that you’ve made a delicious dish from that conversation!
Thanks Caroline! It was really a very simple dish, but with special ingredients…
Oh she reminded me of Nanna Morrel who lived opposite us when I was alone with the children, she had a gold tooth and cooked everything in enormous pots.. and thought I was too skinny, it is funny how the generation gap is easily bridged in these circumstances.. lovely story.. .. have a lovely day.. c
She sounds lovely, Celi. I’m sure she would have been so happy feeding you and your tribe as well!
Tried squeezing the oil out of some grapeseeds – made my ears bleed.
You’re not meant to use your ears, Cosmo.. :)
Maybe it’s the Australian culture that has that affect on everyone who comes to live there? My Siciiian ‘nonna’ neighbour is nothing like the ones you describe. I think she has turned into a wingeing Pom. Interesting thought eh?
Maybe it’s the weather?
I have had a few Mrs M’s in my day and have learn much from them. Your story is a sweet one and your pasta is delish….
Thank you! She was truly wonderful..
This is such a great dish, Celia, and you absolutely nailed it! You impressed my Zia with your determination to learn about and make batutto. It’s a lost art and she was thrilled that you made it. Doesn’t it fill your kitchen with the most heavenly aroma while it’s cooking? Whenever i smelled that scent, I knew something delicious was being prepared for dinner that night. Again, well done! (I’m supposed to be going to bed and now I want some of your spaghetti!) :)
John, I didn’t mean to mislead your Zia, but I didn’t actually make the batutto. I did ask about it, but along the way, I was sidetracked by the guanciale and Amatriciana sauce. Thanks again for starting me on this path – it was a delicious one! :)
What pretty glasses and all the more precious because they are a gift from your sweet neighbor. What a beautiful gift of friendship she gave you all those years. I love the looks of this dish and it’s definitely the sort of meal my son would scrap the bowl clean and look for seconds and thirds!!
Thanks Barb! It’s lovely to have a reminder of her.. x