February was typically a wash for gnocchi revelers, whereas this year afforded an extended month in which to squeeze an extra celebration as well as an extra entreaty for good things to come. Sure enough, things seemed to be going well that year, at least at first. M had lined up a better-paying farm gig for the following spring, and I was spending my winter break traveling with my best friend, Anna, eating my way through the Pacific Northwest before returning for my final semester of school.
Her doctor recommended we stop the chemo. A month later, my mother passed away. Left suddenly without the structure of class or caretaking, I found myself filled with an urgent need to flee the shadows of sickness and death. I packed what was left of my life into the car and I moved back north with M to a ramshackle apartment in Amherst. I think I was hoping that by playing house with M—establishing a routine built around cooking, laundry, and making the bed— I would reclaim some sense of stability and home.
Instead, I found myself more and more confused. From within the thick, sucking muck of grief, M seemed inaccessible and far away. And rightly so—he was wholly unfamiliar with this sadder, weakened version of me. It became impossible for me to distinguish my sadness about the cracks spreading in our relationship from the ache of missing my mother.
The harder he and I fought to find one another, the farther apart we seemed to drift. What kept us hanging on during those long months were the hours we spent together in the kitchen, our shared love of the rituals surrounding food: The unmistakable aroma of onions caramelizing in butter; the satisfaction in mincing garlic cloves; the simple effort of whisking olive oil, vinegar, and mustard for salad dressing; and, on the 29th of each month, the shared act of making gnocchi.
M would race home from the farm on his bicycle and burst through the door to our room, sweaty and exhilarated, a goofy grin on his face. The following January, it was time for M to make a pilgrimage to Uruguay. In my imagination, the trip would be filled with tears, reunions, and an extensive, confusing web of relatives who would soothe the aching loss in my own family. Together we quietly moved through the motions of prep. Relatives peered in the kitchen, observing our teamwork.
As I rolled dumplings down the tines of a fork, I was having trouble imagining a life without this monthly ritual, without M. As I arranged the gnocchi on a pan, readying them for cooking, I thought, if we could prepare such beautiful meals together, perhaps we had the mettle to tough it out after all.
The wine flowed freely. We all lingered into the night, sipping whiskey long after the dishes had been cleared. It had become clear to me that our private rituals, however beautiful and steadfast, were never going to be enough to fill the glaring void in my own life. Nothing would. We received samples of Argentine wine from Winesellers, Ltd , a family-owned importer based in the US.
They import wines from all around the world made by family-owned wineries. You may remember them from our German wine pairing article a few months ago. We were sent wine from Zuccardi Family wines, a family-owned company that started in and is now in their third generation of family ownership.
Their vineyards are in the Uco Valley, in the Mendoza wine region, at the foot of the Andes mountains. It is an oasis that provides a range of climates, altitudes, and soil types for their vines. The Zuccardi Family is considered a pioneer in wine production in Argentina, often experimenting with varietals that are not typical of the region. We found the Zuccardi Bonarda to be very fruit forward on the nose with notes of blackberry and plum.
The fruit carried through to the palate with a full-bodied, juicy acidity and a smooth finish. The oil in the sauce and the Parmesan cheese we used to top our bowls smoothed the acidity of the wine and brought out more of the fruit flavors. We also served this wine the following day with a beef roast and found that it did really shine with the extra fat and dept of the beef.
Her love for cultural cuisines was instilled early by her French Canadian Grandmother. Her experience in the kitchen and in recipe development comes from years working in professional kitchens. She has traveled extensively and enjoys bringing the flavors of her travels back to create easy-to-make recipes. It so great to see another pairing for Argentinian wine other than beef Sarah! Great looking recipe! I love the idea of eating them once a month and they make a natural pairing with the Zuccardi Bonarda!
First you need to cook your potatoes to very soft. This can be done by boiling or baking. Either way, we quite enjoyed the wine and are excited to dive deeper into wines from Argentina!
Prep Time 2 hrs. Payday was typically the first of the month, so by the 29th, all that was left in many kitchen cupboards were dry, aging potatoes and bags of flour—the simple ingredients for your starchy goodness.
The custom was for guests to leave a few pesos beneath their plates to thank the host. Over the years, the tradition has transformed into a lighthearted superstition. Uruguayans believe eating you on the 29th and leaving change underneath their plates will bring good fortune.
Some even stuff you with ham and cheese. Not even in Italy was her divine rendition bested. If I happen to miss a plate of you on the 29th, I blame any financial struggles the following month on my failure to consume you, my beloved comfort food.
Cut the roll into one-inch-long pieces. Serve with your favorite sauce — gnocchi goes well with any pasta sauce. You Might Also Like. Tags: argentina argentinian food gnocci italian food pasta. Get the Latest! We Recommend. By continuing to browse the site you are agreeing to our use of cookies. I Understand.
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