Pasta Alle Vongole & Review of Apron Strings by Jan Wong (2024)

So here I am, definitely not working as poet, but working as a writer. I write. I'm a writer. It still feels strange to say that, but there you have it. But Idefinitely did not aim to get into writing because I thought I could be a writer. I had no plans or illusions, no dreams for the future. I like story-telling and educating, and the craft of writing provides both a medium to do so and a chance to hone my communication skills. I don't know how many other writers out there feel the same way - as if they've sort of fallen into things. But sometimes life throws an attaboy your way, and you start to feel like maybe you've done more than just fall - maybe you've landed. Maybe you can say "I'm a writer" without prefacing it with one of those awkward side-to-side glances. And honestly, that was how I felt when I was approached by Goose Lane publishers and asked to read and review Apron Strings by Jan Wong.

I've loved Jan Wong's writing ever since I first picked up a copy of her phenomenal book Red China Blues back in high school. The idea that somebody might want to hear my thoughts about her newest book was flattering, to say the least. The book reviews I've done to date have all been cookbooks (something I enjoy doing quite a bit), but Apron Strings is definitely not a cookbook. There are recipes, but at its core its anexamination of what home-cooking and the family meal looks like in France, Italy, and China. But even that's only half the story; the book is also a unique travelogue and exploration of mother-son dynamics.

One of the sad realities about writing (at least for me) is that you haven't got a lot of time left to read. I still make an effort to absorb as much written culture as I can, but it tends to be consumed in small bursts. Nothing but tweets and haiku.

I'm kidding of course, tweets are way too long now.

I used to love curling up with a book and reading it for hours, but life (read: parenthood and keeping this site alive) has made that a pretty rare occurrence these days. I steal little moments of time out wherever and whenever I can these days. Case in point: I'm writing this on a boat as I commute to North Vancouver. But this particular limitation has proven something of a boon too. Without the time to sit down and power through a book, I have to read it in bits and pieces. This means that any book I read has to be able to hook me and keep me coming back for more. I might have felt the need to finish an uninteresting book in the past, but now it tends to get tossed aside - or, more accurately, optimistically renewed twice then dumped back at the library. Apron Strings came into my life at an exceptionally busy time, and I'm quite happy to say that it has survived the trial-by-fire that is my daily time-crunch. It's pulled me back in time and time again with compelling storytelling and fascinating looks at culture-crossing similarities and contrasting differences. It's a book about food, but it is by no means the type of overly flowery culinary travelogue that one so often encounters (i.e. the kind that are only worth reading when you're hungry). Wong's style is everything that you'd expect given her body of work; bold, unapologetically blunt, yet colourful and theatrical. While there are a surprising number of real-life characters to remember while reading the book, they feel fully-realized and compelling.

Perhaps I'm breaking the rules of book-reviewing by not saying more. I feel like I should give you a synopsis, but I don't feel like rehashing the jacket. I don't know. I like writing the poetry, not analyzing it. So allow me to be blunt: Apron Strings is a damned good read. It's captivating, entertaining, and as a fantastic little bonus, it's full of great little recipes. I've reprinted one of them below, and it's definitely one I'll be making again. You should make it for your family and friends. Then you should find a rare hole in your schedule and curl up with this book.

As I mentioned above, Apron Strings explores home cooking in France, Italy, and China. Each section is fascinating in its own right, and the similarities and differences between them are fascinating and at times a little startling. Take the humble wok. When you think about Italian cooking, you probably don't think 'traditional Chinese carbon-steel wok.' But one of the more interesting little tidbits that Wong discovered was the popularity of woks in Italy. They handle small and large dishes well, they're deep, they heat up quickly, and they're easy to find. I love my wok, so I can definitely understand why they've found a place in the Italian home. And let me say this - a wok really is bang-on perfect for making Pasta alle Vongole. Seriously folks, try it out. But do me a favour - don't buy a non-stick wok. Never buy a non-stick wok. They're a travesty.

I don't want to steal the book's thunder too much (seriously, you should read it), but there's a lot to like about what Wong encountered in the Italian home and kitchen. Meals are still incredibly family-focused, and cooking from scratch still holds a place of great importance without being overly slavish or obsessed with rules (contrary to popular portrayal, while there are plenty of strong opinions among Italians about how to cook, there are also plenty of acceptable shortcuts and flexible suggestions when it comes to things like pasta, sauce, etc.). There are things that will seem foreign to North American readers of course, including chopping vegetables against a thumb, wasting egg whites, and obsessive washing (there are separate points that feature the washing of sliced vegetables, and the use of literal steel wool to wash produce). Nonetheless, it was the chapter on Italy that left me feeling the most optimistic about home cooking and the family meal. I couldn't help but feel that food still holds a robust, immovable, and essential place in Italian life, and it left me hoping that we'd see a similar approach to home cooking spread to other countries. A little pasta alle vongole is a good place to start.

These are my notes for adapting the recipe as-printed in Apron Strings. There are a few notes directly in the book itself, and these are reprinted below.

Very small clams are more than likely going to be quite hard to find. Manila clams are larger, but are easier to find and quite tasty. I used rope-farmed Manila clams from Salt Spring Island here on the West Coast of Canada, keeping this delicious, local, and sustainable.

When it comes to the wine, olive oil, and spaghetti, use the best quality ingredients you can find, as they all contribute significantly to the final taste and character of the recipe. The olive oil in particular is quite important given the volume you're using.

Concentrated seafood gel may be quite hard to come by, but that's ok. Bottled clam juice is easy to find. If you can't find either of these though, try using 1 cup of good fish stock.

The recipe calls for spaghetti, but any long thin pasta will work (in my opinion). I used fettuccelle because that's what I had on hand.

Yes, that's a wok in all the photos. You can use any large pot, but a wok actually works perfectly for this recipe. As I mentioned above, there's a lovely little section of Apron Strings dedicated to this very fact. Woks are quite wonderfully universal, and it turns out that they've become popular fixtures in many Italian kitchens. If you don't have a wok, make sure whatever pot you use can accommodate the seafood, sauce, and pasta when they're all combined at the end.

Note that the sodium content is an estimate, as a good deal of the salt will remain in the pasta water.

Tasty, protein-rich, and surprisingly low in carbohydrates for a pasta dish.

Lots of olive oil means lots of fat and therefore a pretty high calorie count. That being said, this assumes you eat all of the sauce (which would be understandable). The pasta and clams on their own are considerably leaner.

A lot of the fat is retained by the rather liquid-y sauce, so if you're trying to reduce your calorie-count a bit, avoid the very real temptation to sop it all up with bread.