San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
Travel the globe through spaghetti
From Ethiopia to Japan, cultures add different flavors, techniques to popular Italian dish
There’s an entire world of spaghetti outside an Italian context, unbound by any ideas of “authenticity.”
In the last couple of centuries, spaghetti has become a medium for people from different cultures to apply their own techniques and tastes — a result of colonization and other factors. Each one has its own identity: Peruvians call the dish tallarines; Mexicans make a version known as espagueti verde; and the Dominican take is empaguetadas, traditionally enjoyed at the beachside. It should surprise no one, then, that the Bay Area is home to many spaghettis.
Why did spaghetti, of all pasta shapes, travel the globe? That’s partially because these dried noodles are cheap to make and transport incredibly well.
Spaghetti is a product of technology because it requires extrusion, said Ken Albala, author of several books about food and professor of history at the University of the Pacific in Stockton. Essentially, dough is pressed through a brass die to create uniform pasta strings with rounded edges. Before extrusion, people cut noodles by hand, Albala said, which is labor-intensive.
Its origin, Albala believes, likely comes from the Arab world, so those tall tales about Marco Polo introducing noodles to Italy from China are completely bogus. There was pasta in Italy in the Middle Ages, long before Polo even existed, Albala said.
The way people eat is key to understanding a culture’s adoption of spaghetti. In places like India, where people often eat food by hand, pasta came much later than in other countries, according to New York University food studies Professor Krishnendu Ray. People in countries where utensils are typical, on the other hand, embraced it more openly.
But there are some exceptions to that rule, which has to do with colonization. In East African countries like Ethiopia, where eating with your hands is common, spaghetti was cemented during Italy’s occupation from the late 19th century until 1941. In the Philippines, where the Spanish introduced cutlery in the 16th century, trade brought pasta and Americans introduced ketchup.
Spaghetti is often homecooked — Filipino spaghetti, for example, is a popular celebration dish for birthdays — and thus not always easy to find in restaurants. But there are a few spots that display the worldwide flavor acrobatics of spaghetti, and do it well.
Ethiopian spaghetti
Italy’s colonization of East Africa ensured spaghetti’s
presence in the region. Ethiopia, Somalia and Eritrea each have their own versions of the starchy pasta, tweaked to local taste. Often that’s seen through spice blends. The base of Ethiopian spaghetti is similar to typical Italian spaghetti in a tomato sauce except adjusted to include niter kibbeh (spiced ghee) and berbere spice mix — a spicy combination of chiles, ginger, fenugreek, black pepper, cumin and cardamom, among others. The spaghetti is often tossed with meat, such as ground beef, but it can be vegetarian and accompanied by injera, a crepe-like flatbread made of teff grain.
Where to try it: The spaghetti from Addis, an Ethiopian restaurant in Oakland, looks traditional, with a red sauce that effortlessly clings to the stringy pasta. It still possesses that tomato sauce spirit but with a gentle brush of heat from berbere. It feels like home cooking: plentiful, with enough for a second serving. It’s served with a well-dressed salad, and is also a fantastic accompaniment to a combination meat platter — using plush injera to scoop up the saucy pasta. 6100 Telegraph Ave., Oakland. addisethiopian.com
Sweet Filipino spaghetti
Although it might appear pretty typical, Filipino spaghetti is notably sweet, and the
biggest deviation — and perhaps best known — is the inclusion of sliced hot dogs. It’s a byproduct of European trade and American occupation: European traders brought pasta, and Americans introduced canned goods like ketchup. During World War II, food was scarce, in particular tomatoes, but the country did have lots of bananas. Enter banana ketchup, invented by Maria Orosa, a Filipina chemist, in 1942. According to Esquire magazine, the dish was created for Gen. Douglas MacArthur. His Filipino staff used hot dogs instead of meatballs, and banana ketchup in place of tomato sauce. Today, the dish often marks a birthday celebration at home, though you can regularly find it at big Filipino fastfood chain Jollibee.
Where to try it: The platter of spaghetti ($14.95) from Chibog, a fantastic, casual Filipino restaurant in Daly City, looks strikingly similar to chilitopped Cincinnati spaghetti. It’s crowned with a pile of (unmelted) shredded cheese and so much sweet sauce that you can’t see the springy pasta. It tastes like a sweetened Bolognese, with crumbly pork, sweet peppers and rounds of bright red, smoky hot dogs. The sauce is thick, and the sweetness of the banana ketchup isn’t overpowering. 2055 Gellert Blvd. #5, Daly City.
chibogrestaurant.com
Somali spaghetti
Another byproduct of Italy’s colonization of East Africa, Somalia has its own version of spaghetti. The most common iteration is suugo suqaar, a rich, bold pasta made with ground meat, tomatoes, red onions and a generous use of the native xawaash spice mix. It’s Somalia’s spice blend of choice, like garam masala in India, berbere in Ethiopia or adobo in Latin America — used to flavor anything from meat to rice. (The warm blend of toasted spices includes coriander, cinnamon, cardamom, peppercorn, cloves and turmeric.) A slice of lime usually accompanies the saucy pasta, introducing a vibrant acidity. Often the meal is served alongside a banana, too, for a sweet contrast.
Where to try it: Spaghetti at Somalian restaurant Jubba in San Jose is one of the starch options accompanying different meats. The most common is the succulent beef suqaar ($18.99) — stir-fried beef and vegetables — over a bed of spaghetti coated in a tomato sauce spiced with xawaash. It really wakes up with a squirt of lime and green hot sauce, or basbaas, an acidic, fiery potion of herbs, spices and chiles. The sauce brings brightness that makes the spaghetti and supple beef sing. It’s reminiscent of the magnetic pull of peppery Mongolian noodles. 5330 Terner Way, San Jose
Spaghetti kee mao
Typically, drunken noodles (pad kee mao) call for flat rice noodles stir-fried in a blazing wok with veggies and proteins. As Italian ingredients started being used in Thailand, some restaurants and street-food stands took to using spaghetti for a variation. Thai-Italian food doesn’t actually come from Italy but from Americans in Thailand during the Vietnam War. In the 1960s, Thai pizza shops started to pop up, and by the 1990s, Thai-Italian food was commonplace, with several chains throughout Thailand.
Where to try it: You can find excellent spaghetti kee mao ($27) at Kan Kiin, a brunch restaurant by day and Thai eatery at night. The spicy, peppery noodles are skillfully fried in a wok with seafood like scallops and calamari, plus bell peppers, Thai chiles and young green peppercorns. It has a respectable kick, but if you want extra sizzle, ask for a side of house-made chile paste. It’s exquisitely spicy and a bit floral. 201 Southgate Ave., Daly City. kankiineatery.com
Mentaiko spaghetti
Pasta in Japan dates as far back as the Edo period, but spaghetti didn’t become common in the Japanese diet until the American occupation after World War II. Referred to as wafu ( Japanese-style) spaghetti, it is part of yoshoku cuisine, or Western-style Japanese food. The most common style of Japanese spaghetti is tarako or mentaiko spaghetti, which feature salted pollock or cod roe. (The difference between the two is that mentaiko is marinated.) To prepare the pasta, the fish eggs are infused into a creamy sauce.
Where to try it: La Casta Mia is an adorable Japanese Italian restaurant in Santa Clara where young couples share cracker-crisp pizza, ikura-topped pasta and matcha tiramisu. Of the various handmade pastas, the mentaiko spaghetti ($16) is particularly special. The cream-based pasta is a revelation for a generation raised on Olive Garden, meeting the craving for white-sauce pastas like alfredo — except here, it’s elevated with a generous dose of cod roe. Those tiny orange fish beads course through the luscious white sauce, binding to the bouncy spaghetti and infusing umami into each bite. It’s garnished with a chiffonade of the Japanese herb oba and nori.