Tortellini in Brodo

In Bologna, tortellini in brodo is served on Christmas Day, and it has been served this way for generations beyond counting. Families gather in kitchens the day before, grandmothers and mothers and daughters folding hundreds of tiny pasta rings while the capon simmers on the stove. The work is meditative. The reward is transcendent.

The filling is precise: pork loin browned in butter, prosciutto di Parma, mortadella di Bologna, Parmigiano-Reggiano, egg, and nutmeg. No garlic, despite what you may have read elsewhere. No herbs. The cured meats provide depth, the cheese binds everything together, and the nutmeg adds the faintest warmth. Anything more would be a corruption.

The broth matters as much as the pasta. In Emilia-Romagna, they use capon, that magnificent bird that exists almost solely for this purpose. A stewing hen combined with beef shin produces acceptable results. Chicken broth from a supermarket carton does not. The broth must be clear, golden, and rich enough to coat your lips. It is the medium through which the tortellini swim, and it must be worthy of them.

I do not expect you to make this on a weeknight. This is a project, a commitment, an act of love. Begin the broth the day before. Make the filling that evening. Wake early on the serving day to roll pasta and shape tortellini. When you ladle those first bowls, steaming and fragrant, you will understand why this dish has survived for five centuries. Some things are worth the effort.