Linguine allo Scoglio

Scoglio means rock, and this is the pasta of the rocks: the jagged shoreline where Neapolitan fishermen have cast their nets for centuries. What came up went into the pot. Clams, mussels, whatever small creatures clung to the stones. The result is not a recipe so much as a tradition, a way of cooking that follows the catch.

Americans make this too complicated. They add cream. They add cheese. Let me be clear: there is no cream in allo scoglio. There is no cheese on any pasta di mare in all of Italy. Cheese and seafood together is an abomination that Italians do not recognize and would never commit. The sea provides enough richness. It does not need help.

The technique matters more than the specific shellfish. You must open the clams and mussels first to create a briny cooking liquid. You must add the squid and shrimp at the end to avoid overcooking. Everything must come together in the pan, the pasta finishing in the sauce so that each strand absorbs the flavor of the sea. The sauce should coat the pasta, not pool at the bottom of the bowl.