Kneading the dough was critical for giving the dough stretch; rest was essential too. “It’s just like your muscle. If someone punches you in your arm, what’s your arm going to do? It’s going to seize up. So, if you’re working and working and working your pasta dough until it pushes back, it’s seized up,” said Rains. “Once you wrap it and let it rest, it’s going to relax, so when you cut it and then you roll it out with a rolling pin, it’s going to be much smoother.”
In the past I’d let my pasta dough rest for 30 minutes. This time, Funke said to set the pasta dough aside for two to three hours, at least. Just like in breadmaking, time and rest are essential parts of the process. In bread dough, resting gives gluten added muscle. In pasta dough, a rest after all that kneading functions like a post-workout steam room, letting the newly strengthened dough relax enough to become malleable.
After a three-hour rest in cling film on my counter, my dough was as elastic as rubber—too elastic. I rolled one ball out with my rolling pin, intent on making gossamer-thin strichetti. Instead, I made chubby bow ties. The dough fought me. I should have quieted my impatience and left it to relax some more, listening to the dough instead of the clock.
I kept the second ball of dough in the refrigerator overnight, wondering how that extra time would impact its final texture. After bringing it back to room temperature the next day, I rolled it easily. And this time, I pulled out my hand-crank pasta machine. It pushed out gorgeous sheets of pasta; I almost changed course to make lasagna. But instead I fed the dough through the linguine side of the machine, and out came silky-smooth strands that had me ogling my dinner plate. Next time I’m going to heed Forkish’s comments about letting the dough rest. While he aimed them at bread, that idea holds true for pasta too.
Photo by Emma Fishman, Food Styling by Kat Boytsova
The thing I’ve always loved about dough is how it tells you what it needs. How it asks you to learn to listen. Maybe this is particularly true for bread dough or pasta, but I’m keeping it in mind for cake, muffins, and scones in a new way too. Getting to know gluten better opened me up to seeing how the web of protein strands works hard, and deepened my appreciation for its purpose. I’m still absorbed in something Bouzari told me:
“The central rule of gluten is it’s a protein, and in general proteins are among the most dynamic molecules we can cook with. They respond really strongly to stress. Stress changes proteins. And in the case of gluten, stress makes an ever-tightening network. The type of stress you choose and the way you apply it will eventually literally shape the thing that you’re making.”
Headphones on, Frou Frou playing “Let Go,” getting my hands deep into flour, I’m hanging on to the idea of work and rest, of stress, and how stress can be good—how it creates a web of gluten that glues together the best parts of our days.
