Spring Fever: Tagliatelle with Chive Oil

The snow has melted and crocuses are sprouting up all over the east end of Pittsburgh. Maybe it's been the sight of these lavender and yellow lovelies that has me wrinkling my nose at brussels sprouts, beets, and even the rutabagas which, mashed up with carrots and doused with sage scented milk, I so recently eulogized. Perhaps I am a foul-weather friend, but these wintry vegetables and their ilk are starting to look a little, well, dour. They've been delightful guests in my kitchen, but I can't have them over-staying their welcome when I'm making room for new peas, vidalia onions, and bunches of pencil-thin asparagus. The root vegetable spark is losing its luster. My affections are being pulled in the direction of spring green.

All this to say, I was primed to fall in love with this recipe. It was a culinary coup de foudre unlike any I've experienced in recent months, Valentine's tarts included. My first glance at the slick photo of chive-speckled tagliatelle in Saveur turned into a double-take, followed by a slow perusal. My stomach fluttered with hunger. My lips would not be satisfied until they met this dish.

The article by Molly Stevens that accompanied this and other chive-filled recipes in the April issue of Saveur left me longing for a backyard plot of freshly sprouted herbs. She waxed rhapsodic about her own love affair with early spring chives, and the recipes she included made me believe it. Seared steaks topped with bright green pats of chive butter. Crumbly chive and cheddar biscuits. They all struck my fancy, but it was this one that had me wanting to munch a bunch of freshly sprouted chives straight from the earth...to just bend over like some ruminating animal and take my fill of the taste of spring. This moment, I feel compelled to add, is unique as far as heifer transformation fantasies go. And, it didn't last long. I don't even have a chive patch on which to graze. The prepackaged sort would simply have to do.


My crush on this recipe deepened into something like awe-filled admiration after the first taste. Ms. Stevens has wisely called for a significant amount of chives, reminding us that this herb wants to be so much more than an omelet garnish. She has also wisely constructed a recipe that will not overwhelm the delicate flavor of her signature ingredient. There is the slight tartness of lemon, the slow bloom of pepper flake spice. This chive sauce soaks into every millimeter of tagliatelle, and made me thank the gods of the table, once again, for the miracle that is pasta.

Tagliatelle with Chive Oil and Cremini Mushrooms
Adapted from Saveur magazine, April 2007. Serves 4.



I heartily recommend a good tagliatelle for the pasta here. Fettuccine would do, but you certainly want a broad, toothsome pasta, one that will soak up the chive sauce and stand up to the heft of the mushrooms. Don't forget to save a cup of pasta water to mix in with the sauce. I'm always a little saddened to see my pasta water go down the drain with all of its sauce-perfecting starches. Since I'm prone to forgetting it, I put a measuring cup inside of my colander when I sit it in the sink to remind me to reserve some cooking water before I drain my pasta. Almost any sauce, but especially an oil-based one, benefits from a half cup or so.

I used the mini-processor attachment to my immersion blender to make the chive emulsion. This worked fine, just in case you find it a hassle to clean your stand blender as much as I do.

I wouldn't recommend substituting bland white mushrooms for the cremini ones here. They're perfectly delicious sliced thin on garden salads, but they just don't develop a rich, roasted flavor when they're cooked. Since creminis are immature portobello mushrooms (that's why they're sometimes called "Baby Bellas"), it would be fine to substitute for the baby type the adult type, cut down into bite-size chunks.

2 pounds cremini mushrooms, small ones left whole, large ones cut into halves
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
3/4 pound dried tagliatelle
2 large bunches chives, roughly chopped (about 2 cups)
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese

1. Heat oven to 475 degrees. Toss together mushrooms with 1/4 cup olive oil, 1/2 teaspoon pepper flakes, and 1/2 teaspoon coarse salt on a baking sheet. Spread mushrooms out in a single layer, and roast in oven, turning a few times, until browned, about 10 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, bring large pot of salted water to boil. Add tagliatelle and cook until al dente, 8-10 minutes. Reserve 1/2 cup cooking water. Drain pasta and transfer it to a large bowl.

3. Put remaining 1/4 cup olive oil, 1/2 teaspoon pepper flakes, 1 3/4 cups chives, lemon juice, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and several grinds of pepper into a blender. Puree until emulsified, about 30 seconds. Make the chive oil as close as possible to serving time as its greenness diminishes as it sits.

4. Transfer chive oil to bowl with tagliatelle, add mushrooms, reserved pasta water, and parmigiana. Toss well. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately, garnished with remaining 1/4 cup of chopped chives.