Al Dente sometimes the wrong word
Many chefs, like Mario Batale, have declared war on over-cooked pasta. He’s quite emphatic about how badly (North) Americans – or non-Italians, for that matter – cook pasta. He taught many the importance of pasta cooked al dente, to the tooth, with just enough resistance in each bite so the pasta becomes a mouth experience and not baby food.
So, we now understand the term al dente, and just by saying it in a sentence one sounds like they know what they’re talking about, at least when it comes to pasta. But here’s a case of falling in love with a wise sounding cooking term and not knowing how and where to use it. I’ve noticed many chefs and cookbooks use the term al dente to describe cooking vegetables, accusing the average home cook of over-cooking their vegetables (an accusation I have, with regret, made about my grandma’s chard and cardoons). Cooking vegetables al dente sounds right and wise, but ever since I thought was the right way I’ve experienced under-cooked vegetables everywhere I eat. Within the spectrum of raw and over-cooked vegetables, perfectly cooked vegetables would lie in the middle; al dente cooked vegetables would lie somewhere between perfect and raw. A carrot, green bean, or asparagus cooked further than al dente, what the French call a point, or when the bite is just right, without the teeth having to play the major role but the involving more of the tongue and mouth in the experience, the food actually has more flavour. This applies even more so when cooking greens such as chard, kale, rapini, etc. I always accused my grandmother of over-cooking her greens, hers looked more grey than mine cooked al dente, but hers were much more delicious.
I remember when Chardonnay wine was the most popular wine to drink, and then quickly lost favour, just like Merlot. Both are beautiful words, perhaps too beautiful, and we connected the wine to the word itself, and with over-use they were reduced to popular jargon. I think we are much too excited still by the word al dente, convinced its sense of correctness applies to everything. I don’t think my grandmother, being of Italian origin and only able to speak Italian, even knew what the word meant. But she did cook her dry pasta al dente, her vegetables nice and tender, her ravioli like pillows, and her cooking greens with the necessary time, even to the point of sacrificing some of the chlorophyll. But I’ve never to this day had a professional chef cook kale and chard to taste like hers – except for Chef Ian, a farmer at heart, who once cooked me chard and beet tops to a nona’s standard.
Sometimes as a professional chef we think we know something the average cook does not know, and sometimes that information is not as accurate as we think. Even the basics, I guess, must be constantly questioned.
Tony Minichiello
Culinary Instructor
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