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10/13/1999 Archived Entry: "Fettuccine Alfredo"

Last night I ate white. In Italian: Ieri sera ho mangiato in bianco. Italians are always eating “in bianco” – in white – when their bellies hurt, or they have overeaten the day before. I used my sore, overused stomach as an excuse to make Fettuccine Alfredo. La vera Alfredo, the real Alfredo.

I would never dream of ordering Fettuccine Alfredo in a restaurant. It is invariably made poorly. Truly: It’s gloppy from a starch thickening, and/or it is oversauced, and/or the cheese is inferior, and/or it contains whole eggs or egg yolks, and/or the cream is over-reduced and tastes too cooked. All kinds of indignities are heaped on it. Invariably. And I rarely think of making it at home. I’m not so much of a cream person that I crave it, and most of the time when I am trying to eat “in bianco” I have only the pasta with a little butter and grated cheese. I happened to have a half-cup of cream in the refrigerator, though, so it felt like the treat of a creamy Alfredo was meant to be.

Fettuccine Alfredo is an extraordinarily popular dish, as you must know. There are even boxed mixes for it (Feh! – and that isn’t Italian) and convenience products for this or that Alfredo-style. In American parlance, the word has come to mean any dish with any sauce with cream and grated cheese, but there is no sauce to make for Fettuccine Alfredo. It is pasta dressed with cream and butter and cheese. The idea is as old as the hills, and a homey dish, and in Italy it is more likely called fettuccine (or tagliatelle) alla panna, ribbon egg pasta with cream.

It got the name Alfredo in the U.S. from a restaurateur/chef in Rome, one Alfredo Di Lelio, who prepared it, with some flourish, in his dining room for, as the story goes, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks on their 1927 honeymoon. The newlyweds liked it so much, especially with the drama of having it made tableside, that – still as legend has it – they returned to Alfredo’s every night for a week to eat it. On their final visit, they presented Alfredo with a golden fork and spoon (with which to toss the pasta) and dubbed him King of Pasta.

Pickford and Fairbanks brought word of Alfredo’s to Hollywood and it became a popular restaurant dish there. The rest is history.

With the half-cup of cream in my refrigerator, I had just enough to dress 8 ounces of dried egg pasta. I used Del Verde’s fettuccine last night, but I also favor Spinosi brand, a superb hand-wrought product that is available at many fancy food stores. I warn you, Spinosi is expensive – about $6 for an 8.8-ounce package – but when you think of what they charge for this simple, homey dish in a restaurant, Spinosi is a bargain. There are other good brands of dried egg pasta – for instance, Rienzi, which is sold in supermarkets – and I definitely do prefer dried egg pasta to most of the fresh egg pasta one can buy in both supermarkets and specialty stores. Of course, if you make your own fresh pasta, that’s another story.

Fettuccine Alfredo
Serves 4 as a first course, 2 or 3 as a main course

8 ounces narrow dried egg noodles (or 8.8 ounces, if you buy a European-sized (metric) package)
1 tablespoon salt
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Additional Parmigiano-Reggiano to grate on the finished pasta

Bring 2 1/2 to 3 quarts of water to a boil. Salt the water. Cook the pasta until just barely done.

Meanwhile, in a skillet, over low heat, melt the butter in the cream. Do not let the cream bubble or boil. Stir the butter into the cream.

When the pasta is done, drain it well and turn it into the cream and butter mixture, still over low heat. Toss well. Sprinkle on the grated cheese and toss again. Taste and season with salt, if necessary. (It may not need any salt.) Season with freshly ground pepper, tossing again.

Serve immediately, preferably in warmed bowls.