A Recipe for Macs and Life

In 1978, I was nineteen and had the cooking education of a lifetime. My Mom and I experienced how to make homemade macs with Auntie Rose. Macs are what my Italian family calls pasta. Auntie had just received her first pasta machine, and we thought that would certainly be easier than the old-fashioned process.

Aunt Rosie and Uncle Frank lived in North Denver. It was a huge house made of large stone bricks, with a massive front porch. The back door was strictly for family and friends. Inside this back door, you could turn left into the porch or go straight down into the depths of the spooky, unfinished basement. No, seriously, no child ever went down into the depths of those cement stairs alone. Who knew what was lurking in the ‘cold room’ or the dug-out back room that smelled like musty dirt and ghosts! 

Coincidentally, that basement is where I learned how to make macs. 

The main room in the basement was where Auntie ironed clothes. Now, you have to understand that for Italian women in 1978, ironing was an art! Maybe more important than making macs, because if your husband and children were in freshly starched shirts, you were a good wife and mother. There were shelves for her sprinkling bottle, hangers, and a tiny TV to watch soaps while pressing away the wrinkles. 

OK, back to the macs! Up in the kitchen, we assembled all the necessary ingredients and tools. Quite simple, really, just like the ingredients for life. Flour, eggs, salt, oil (you're thinking EVOO, but that would be a mistake - vegetable oil only), and water. No running water in the scary basement.

We carried a pan, a damp rag, a rolling pin, a sharp knife, and measuring cups down narrow steps, ducking our heads to miss the slanted ceiling. The ironing board was moved to the side, and Uncle had set up an old table with the new machine clamped to one end. When I say old table, I mean, basically, finished plywood! No plastic and no splinters. 

What happened for the next 30 minutes was a marital duel of wits unlike anything I had ever seen before. If Auntie said measure 8 cups of flour into 2 piles, Uncle said 10 cups into 3 piles since 3 women were kneading the dough.

If Auntie said, “Make a neat, small well,” Uncle said, “Make it bigger.”

If Auntie said, “1 egg per cup of flour,” Uncle said, “2.” 

If Auntie said, “Sprinkle the salt,” Uncle said, “Add the oil first and use more salt.” 

If Auntie said, “Add half a cup of water,” Uncle insisted it wasn’t enough. 

Honest to God, I don’t know how we ever ended up with dough to put through the machine! Mom and I spent 2 years trying to figure out if you use 1 egg or 2, a sprinkle of salt or a handful, 2 capfuls of oil or 3! 

After several different demonstrations on kneading the mixture, we ended up with 2 nice loaf-shaped lumps of pulp. Then came the debate over whether the dough was wet enough or needed to rest in a bowl, covered with a damp towel. The purpose of resting it is to allow all the flour to be absorbed. This is discovered by cutting the loaf with a sharp knife and looking for ribbons of white flour. Ribbons mean more kneading!

The resting idea sounded great because I needed a break from the head-to-head combat. The tenacity Auntie and Uncle showed was exhausting! After fifty years of kneading dough, I still remember their dogged nagging, and I always choose to let the dough rest with a glass of red wine! If only I had suggested that during my first lesson, we could have postponed the ensuing drama over rolling out the floury slop!

If you have never seen a pasta machine, the rollers have 7 thickness settings. You can imagine that this set the stage for 7 different contradictions. Should the dough be rolled in the sequence of 1, 3, 5, and finally 7, or 2, 4, 6, and that was thin enough? Was the flattened mix too thick, too wet, too thin, or perhaps just right? Finally, after many combinations, we actually rolled and cut enough macs to feed an army, or at least the Sunday family dinner. Laid out to dry in that cool, spooky basement, the aroma promised a delicious outcome! 

Does your family have a special recipe that has been passed down for generations?

Are there particular memories you connect with when preparing this recipe?

Just in case you are wondering, here is the final recipe we settled on-

8 cups flour

8 eggs

Salt 

2 tbs cheap oil

Scant cup of water per well (this is the tricky part)

Make a well with the flour (a pile with a hole like mashed potatoes waiting for gravy). 4 -5 cups per well is easiest.

Crack the corresponding number of eggs into the well.

Salt generously.

Add 1 tbsp (the cap of a jug of oil works perfectly) of oil to eggs.

Add a half cup of water or more if channeling Uncle.

Slowly, not too slowly, mix flour into the center and combine ingredients.

Knead with the palm of your hand. Sometimes more water is needed, but adding too much water is a pain. Add some flour. 

Make 2 loaves of dough, set in a pan, and cover with a damp cloth to let rest. Drink a cup of strong coffee or wine!

Cut 1-inch pieces off the loaves, roll them out a little with a rolling pin, and then crank them through the machine on settings 1, 3, 5, and finally 6. (Note the compromise!)

Dried or fresh, boil and cover in the sauce recipe to be revealed later.

Bit by bit, that’s all she wrote…