table talk / By Simona Carini

Spaghetti col Tonno

(March 29, 2007)  As you drive towards Trinidad harbor you can’t miss the sign for Katy’s Smokehouse, and on my first visit to Humboldt County nine years ago, I didn’t. Nowadays a pleasant two-mile walk along shady Stagecoach Road brings me from our house to town, and I have become a regular customer at Katy’s. Initially I would buy fresh fish and small pieces of their legendary smoked salmon. Then one day, acting on impulse, I added to my purchases a can of their Very Fancy Hand Packed Albacore to make spaghetti col tonno (with tuna sauce).

It is a dish my mother makes frequently on Fridays for lunch and always on Christmas Eve for dinner, because those are days when, according to ancient rules, Catholics are supposed to abstain from meat. Dinner on Christmas Eve, like meals on other major religious holidays, has an established and immutable menu. Every Dec. 24, supper at my parents’ starts with spaghetti col tonno, continues with marinated tiny fish (pescetti) and marinated eel served with orange slices seasoned with a thread of olive oil, and concludes with cauliflower florets battered and deep fried (frittelli). I have no idea what the marinated fish or eel taste like, having from the very beginning of my life refused to put them in my mouth. Everything else on the menu is really good, especially the spaghetti.

Katy’s Very Fancy Hand Packed Albacore.

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Katy’s Very Fancy Albacore is packed with a little sea salt and lots of tender loving care: no oil, no water, no chemicals of any kind. While roasting in the can, the sashimi-grade tuna acquires a light caramel color and releases some juice and oil. The tuna bathes in this natural liquid medium until the can opener brings it back to the light of day. After purchasing a sample of such wonder, I told my mother about my plan of using it to make tuna sauce for spaghetti.

As a teenager and young woman I was not very interested in cooking - the fact that my mother was extremely territorial in her kitchen did not help. Contrary to popular belief, a passion for cooking is not a genetic trait of all Italian people: Although I was born and raised in Italy, I learned to cook after moving to California 14 years ago. I am not sure what inexplicable impulse prompts me to let my mother know about my cooking plans, when I know very well what the result will be. My mother is more comfortable using negatives, so to teach me how to do something she lists all the things I am not supposed to do. I will spare you the intimate details of our conversation and give you the translation into positive English statements of her recipe.

Spaghetti col tonno is a flavorful dish and is quick and easy to make - provided you have the ingredients handy. Almost all of them can be stored long-term in your pantry (a note on the exception to this rule will follow). Hence, the only planning needed is remembering to replenish your supplies after each use.

While a big pot with water is happily getting to boiling point, I pour half a tablespoon of olive oil in a small pan over very low heat. I add three peeled cloves of garlic and let the oil absorb the garlic’s flavor for a couple of minutes. The cloves will darken in color, but must not become dark brown (aka, burnt). If that happens I recommend to start again from scratch. I add a half tablespoon of anchovy paste and stir it into the oil, but that is optional.

At this point my mother opens a bottle of her homemade tomato sauce. I have decided that in my youth I spent enough time pureeing tomatoes with a hand-powered food mill to last me a lifetime, so, instead, I use a 15-oz can of organic tomato sauce. I add it to the oil, warm the sauce slowly and let it simmer, covered, for five minutes. In the meantime I open the can of Katy’s albacore. My nostrils encounter a succulent smell of deep sea — clean, intense and fresh. I pour the tuna in a small bowl and, following the instructions printed on the label, I flake the fish with a fork and mix to stir the juices back in, then add it to the simmering tomatoes. I stir well, then cover the pan and let the sauce cook over low heat for another 10 minutes.

By this time the water has reached a rolling boil. I toss in the spaghetti (usually De Cecco, the brand my mother has always used, which is available in local grocery stores) and cook it for the amount of time printed on the package. When the sauce is ready, I add 1/4 cup of chopped fresh parsley, turn off the heat, mix well and cover again. “Don’t cook the parsley!” says my mother’s voice, indelibly recorded in my brain and able to play itself at the appropriate moment. I drain the spaghetti and pour it in a big bowl, then toss it with the sauce, remove the garlic cloves (obeying my mother’s peremptory “Don’t leave the garlic in!”) and serve immediately.

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