When we first came to New Haven in December 2014 to explore the city, before committing to moving here, I was lured into ROÍA Restaurant and Café. There we had a few great cocktails—concoctions called Ibisco and Le Martea, both of which are currently still featured on their menu—along with some of their great French-Italian food. To call it fusion would be insulting; ROÍA seamlessly wove the two together without the usual pretentious and frustrating concept of fusion food. Actually, its name comes from the Roya River that runs between France and Italy’s last 30-some miles before emptying into the sea; something, you could surmise, connotes the river being the dividing thing that brings the two together, or the common thing that separates them. The cuisines of these two countries may not seem too different, especially when you consider that what we think of as classic Italian food was greatly influenced by French chefs at the time, but they can be quite combative (and not just due to egos).
A creamy fettuccini with chantrelle mushrooms and thyme had the quality of being brisk and light while still being buttery and rich—a balance that, one could argue, only the French can bring to food—all the while feeling rustic, quickly being thrown together in the kitchen for the sole purpose of feeding you, not impressing or dazzling you, though it inevitably would—the Italian perspective. But what struck me was this fabulous dish of mussels cooking in a sauce of their house-made pancetta, saffron, sliced fennel and a tomato sauce tossed with house-made spaghetti. It was everything.
It nestled in the inner recesses of my brain, working its way into the nooks and crannies, and stayed there. That is, until one day when I was out running some quick morning errands and realized I didn’t have any lunch back home. Knowing that their menu had since changed, I was met with a brief fear that my craving may never be fed again. A quick stop at Ferraro’s Market on Grand Avenue for some mussels fixed that.
The pancetta is salty and porky, which works extremely well with the fennel (here being the pungently anise-heavy seed, rather than the crisp bulb), and the saffron’s aromatic and almost sea-like essence tie the mussels into it all. It can have a bit of a rusty, almost medicinal tinge to it, but once you get past that on its characteristic olfactory tour you’re hit with a similar heady waft to a warm breeze coming across the harbor. By way of Spain, Sherry lends a rounder and grapier flavor than wine, and, as I said in the Shrimp & Chorizo Stew recipe, the pairing of seafood and sherry is one that cannot be argued with (and is only improved with a porky element—here being pancetta, and chorizo for the stew).
The liqueur that the mussels give off while they steam in the sauce give not only add a little extra salty brine, but also dilute the sauces consistency from a thick tomato sauce to a warming broth—just as well, it makes bread-sopping almost required. A few glasses of wine, the apropos crusty bread, and a setting sun, and you’ll be transported—be it France or Italy, and frankly, I’m not sure that it matters which.
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| Servings | Prep Time |
| 2 | 10 minutes |
| Cook Time |
| 20 - 25 minutes |
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An incredibly quick, low-effort, and flavorful dish that's easy enough for weeknight dinners but unique enough for more special occasions.
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- 2 ounces pancetta cut into 1/8" cubes
- 1 clove garlic smashed
- 1/4 t-spoon fennel seeds ground
- 1/4 t-spoon chili flakes
- 2 tablespoons dry sherry
- 1/4 t-spoon saffron
- 4 whole San Marzano tomatoes crushed or pureed
- 1-1/2 pounds mussels scrubbed and bearded (smaller preferred--see note)
- 6 ounces spaghetti
- 2 tablespoons fresh minced parsley
- A few pinches kosher salt plus A LOT more for the pasta water
- A few pinches baking soda
- Put a large pot of water over high heat to bring to a boil. Mix the sherry and saffron together in a measuring cup and set aside.
- In a large pan that will eventually fit everything—I use a braiser pan or Dutch oven—heat the pancetta over medium-low heat with the smashed garlic clove for about 10 minutes, until it crisps and renders all of its fat.
- While this is happening, dissolve the baking soda in a large bowl of water and plunge the mussels into the water. Let them soak for about 5 – 10 minutes, ensuring they spit out any sandy grit they’re holding on to.
- Add the fennel and chili flakes to the pan and stir to bloom their flavors for just about 30 seconds. Turn the heat up a little before pouring in the golden sunburst-tinted sherry. Deglaze any porky bits stuck to the pan and then add in the crushed tomatoes. Bring this to a gentle boil.
- At this point, the water should be boiling. Salt it heavily, add the pasta, and stir to incorporate, boiling per package instructions for al dente (usually about 8 – 9 minutes). Tumble the mussels into the pancetta-tomato pan, cover and reduce the heat to medium-low while the pasta boils.
- After about 8 – 9 minutes not only should the pasta be just about al dente, but the mussels should be just about opened. Drain the pasta, reserving a little water just in case, before dumping it into the pan with the mussels. Toss everything to combine, adding a bit of pasta water as need to help coat the spaghetti. The mussels will finish opening in the residual heat of the pan (although, any that haven’t opened at all should be discarded).
- Scatter the dish wit parsley and transfer to two warmed shallow bowls or rimmed plates and devour with some rustic bread.
- To clean the mussels, scrub them with a stiff brush under gentle, cold running water to remove any outside grit. Any mussels with beards—those little bristly hairs that stick out from inside the shell—need to be cleaned. Simply grab ahold of the beard and pull back towards the “hinge” of the mussel to remove.
- Smaller mussels are preferred, as they are more likely to stay tender and less so to become rubbery. If yours are very small you may want to plan on only 5 - 6 minutes steaming to be safe. No matter the size they don't need to be fully opened before the pasta goes in the pan--just about halfway, more or less--so the pasta has time to soak up some sauce and the mussels don't overcook.
- For any mussels that are slightly open before soaking, tap on them with the spine of a knife or against the counter (not to forcefully) or try to press them closed gently. If they don't clamp shut, throw them away--they're dead. The same goes for any mussels that don't open after the steaming is done--don't try to pry them, just pitch 'em.
This looks absolutely delicious! I love the fusion of French/Italian, and I LOVE mussels! Must try.
Thanks, Jackie! It’s a great recipe. Smaller mussels are best, but really any work (especially when you have a craving). Love your blog! The pictures are gorgeous 🙂