Rachel Roddy’s linguine with courgettes, egg and parmesan recipe | Food (2024)

“Crazy March... here comes the sun, but take your umbrella,” or something like that, says the Roman proverb. It has been truer than ever this year, and, of course, I rarely have an umbrella, but I do have a small child, so endure my fair share of relatively good-hearted tutting from my neighbours that gather in the piazza when we pass by soaked.

I have also overheard my fruit and vegetable man Filippo saying Marzo pazzerello – crazy March – and then noting the crazy climate in general: everything is early. His peaches and apricots blossomed in February, he picked the first broad beans two weeks ago, peas and courgettes this week, but then the rain left the blossoms soggy. Yesterday morning, he loaded his van with the first spring produce – courgettes, broad beans with silvery green leaves and white buds, and the first bright-green peas – along with the end of the winter produce: fennel, broccoli, cauliflowers, spinach and the great piles of bitter cicora (endives). Van loaded, he then drove, as he does every Tuesday through Saturday, the 160km from Minturno, a town on the coast midway between Naples and Rome, to Testaccio.

Even with soggy blossoms, zucchine romanesche (Roman courgettes), are handsome things – pale speckled green, and fluted like Corinthian columns. As with all squash, their ancestors were from the New World. But zucchini, derived from the Italian word zucca – meaning squash or pumpkin, and ini, the diminutive (“little”) – seem to have been developed in Italy by late Renaissance gardeners. Once this crazy weather stops and the sun starts shining uninterrupted, courgettes will be prolific in southern Italy, as they are a doddle to grow, their fragile, rich yellowy-orange flowers like flames, or the head dress of a Las Vegas showgirl. The flowers shooting from the end of the courgette are female. The slightly smaller flowers with long firm stems that shoot directly from the main stem of the plant are male. The male ones are ideal for stuffing, as they have a closed cup and their long stem is helpful when you want to swoop it through batter. I should note that some of the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen on courgettes were in my brother-in-law’s garden in Shepherd’s Bush. Roman courgettes have a dense white flesh and an almost creamy, sweet freshness about them, as do the more familiar dark green variety, just as long as they are bright-skinned and not too big.

The cooking water, cloudy from the starch that has seeped from the pasta, is key. In the last minutes of cooking, scoop out a cup or jug full. Because I was forever forgetting and sloshing the pasta water down the sink, I now keep a glass measuring jug just by the stove to remind me. You will have already cooked the courgette strips until they are very soft – “like snakes” my son says. When the pasta is almost ready, you want to get the courgette pan hot again, then add the hot pasta, stir and turn off the heat. Now add the egg mixture, a splash of reserved water, and stir and swish it all around – really swish: the egg mixture is going to emulsify with this movement in the residual heat. If it looks dry, add more water and swish and swirl again – I use a big wooden fork. Practice is key here, so you recognise the moment when the sauce is thickening into a batter-like mixture, and if and when you need a bit more water. Some people do this over a low heat, but there is the risk of a scramble – which is still edible, but a scramble nonetheless. Then there is the risk of flooding it, which can often be rectified by a bit more cheese, a moment on the heat, more swishing.

1 Bring a large pan of water to the boil. Thinly slice the onion, then cut the courgettes into 5cm long, 2mm thick strips. In a large frying pan, warm the olive oil over a medium-low heat, then cook the onion and courgettes gently with a pinch of salt, turning them regularly with a wooden spoon until they are very soft and tender – which will take about 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat.

4 Drain the pasta, reserving some of the cooking water. Add the pasta to the frying pan, stirring so it tangles with the vegetables. Turn off the heat, and, working quickly, add the egg mixture and a splash of pasta cooking water, then stir and swirl the pan vigorously until each strand is coated with creamy sauce and the consistency is slithery. Add a little more pasta cooking water if it seems too stiff and stir again. Rip the basil into the pan, stir again and serve.

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