I love butter. I come from a family of butter fiends. My mother eats it in chunks from the pat with a spoon, and my father spreads it as thick as cheese on his toast.
A good butter has an unmistakable smell. It should smell of thick, cold, cream: ever-so slightly cheesy, faintly sweet. I urge you to start smelling your butters. The butter out here in Sardinia smells very strongly, as butter should. It is purest white, always unsalted, and comes in enormous 500g blocks, wrapped in white waxed paper, like the butter of old. It is a beautiful thing to look at, and to eat.
Butter only appeared in culinary use in Italy in the Renaissance, and was initially used by the wealthy, often made into an elaborate table centrepiece rather than being consumed – yes, butter sculptures! To this day, despite its quality and ready availability, the Sardinians very rarely use butter in cooking. When butter is used, it is as an essential flavour in the finished dish, rather than just a means of cooking.
Glamorous it may not be, but I could happily eat this dish every day for the rest of my life.
It also demonstrates perfectly the essential (and often overlooked) skill in making pasta sauces, and the first thing everyone learns when they start cooking pasta in Italy; that the pasta cooking water must be added to the finished dish, to both emulsify the sauce and melt the grated cheese into a creamy consistency. Once you have learned how to do this, you will never look back.
The earthiness of the sage is what really grounds this recipe, so don’t be tempted to leave it out. The echo of a “salve” seems fitting, too, as this dish is deepest comfort.
For 2 restrained diners, or 1 hungover/fragile one
dried pasta of your choice 220g (I like risoni or any short pasta)
butter 120g
sage leaves 8-10 small
parmesan 70g, grated, plus extra to serve
sea salt
Bring a large saucepan of well-salted water to the boil. Drop in the pasta.
Place the butter in a wide, shallow pan and put on the lowest heat. Add the sage and cook k for a moment or so to gently to release the aromas. Drain the pasta when it is at your perfect al dente, reserving a cup of the cooking liquid. Add half this water and the pasta to the pan with the butter and sage and turn up the heat. Stir and toss well for a minute or so, then add the cheese and toss again and again, until an emulsified and silky sauce forms. If it looks too dry, add more cooking water; too wet, carry on cooking. Serve with more cheese.
From Bitter Honey by Letitia Clark (Hardie Grant, £26). To order a copy for £22.88, go to guardianbookshop.com