Opera and aubergines

Let's start with the name. How many other recipes do you know that are named after an opera?

I can't think of any "Risotto Traviata" or "Escalope Rigoletto". And even if there was one, it wouldn't be as renowned as the "Pasta alla Norma". In Catania, the Sicilian city where it was invented, is an institution. And rightly so, because it couldn't be more linked to it. Even the recipe itself has much to do with the city. But let's proceed with order.

By the 1830's, Vincenzo Bellini was already the biggest celebrity Catania could boast, as his latest operas had been a major triumph and his creative flow seemed inexhaustible. But when he wrote "Norma", his fellow citizens went bananas. His vast popularity was the combination of his persona (young, elegant and good-looking) and his ability to craft arrowing, long-winded melodies. "Casta Diva", one of the airs in the opera, had all the qualities to become memorable. And it did. To use an expression of a less elegant era, "it went viral". It's easy to imagine barbers and their customers humming it, cart drivers whistling it and well-to-do girls singing it during a formal party.

It was so popular, that people started saying "it's a Norma" ("è una Norma") to say "it's a masterpiece". It was a local phenomenon, though, because the Norma initially wasn't well received in Milan, where the famous "La Scala" theatre saw its first performance.

So, if a pasta recipe is called "alla Norma" it means two things: first, it's from Catania and second, it's as good as it gets.

Any residual doubt about its provenance are dispelled by its formal presentation: the basil leaves should be scattered at the base of the pasta mould, the deep-fried aubergines arranged around its sides, the grated "ricotta salata" should cover its summit while a splash of tomato sauce should flow from its very top.

It doesn't take a geologist to understand that we are talking about Mount Etna here: a massive vulcano - over than ten thousand feet tall - shadowing the city, that the locals simply call "The Mountain" ('A Muntagna), as if it was the one and only on the face of earth. For a first-time tourist it may look as scary as Tolkien's Mordor, but in spite of its incumbent position, fiery temper and terrible reputation, mount Etna is a benign presence. Hardly a man-killer (its lava flows at a rather Mediterranean pace), it nourishes those living in the very city that managed to flatten eight times in twenty-seven centuries, by making its land incredibly fertile. One of the many crops benefiting from plenty of sun and an abnormally rich soil are the aubergines, the pivotal ingredient of the "pasta alla Norma". 

Those grown near Catania are flavoursome to the point that must be sliced and kept in salted water over night before being used, otherwise they are unpleasantly bitter.

Rivers of ink and long, lazy afternoons around a dining table have been spent discussing whether they should be deep-fried or oven roasted, and the answer mostly depends on the age of those debating the matter and their views on healthy eating. But one thing is certain: they should be cooked quickly, because they must be crispy in order to counterbalance the velvety texture of the "ricotta salata" (salted ricotta).

This peculiar cheese is hard to find outside Sicily. It has an unique texture (it's neither firm or crumbly) and it's difficult to tell how mature it actually is, because the salt preserves its youth. Those who launch themselves in its quest, wandering from deli to deli, do it for a just cause, because it complements the aubergines perfectly, and enriches the tomato sauce adding smoothness and a rounder flavour. By the way, while the sauce itself requires - thanks to its tasty companion - no or little salt, it may require a small pinch of sugar, in case you can't get your hands onto any vulcano-powered tomatoes which were lucky enough to become naturally sweet while growing slowly during a torrid summer, instead of being ushered out of a greenhouse in the shortest possible time. The sweetness is - again - a tribute to its majesty the aubergine, as it compensates for its sharpness. And so is the freshness of the Greek basil (please don't cook it, as this royal herb is of a delicate nature) which balances the taste of its deep fried (or fully roasted) demanding counterpart. 

Last but not least, it's the pasta itself.

In Italy there are hundreds of pasta shapes in active service, and they are all supposed to serve a specific purpose. Even those which are clearly redundant, find their raison d'être in endless debates between antagonistic regions (and even cities) about which one came first. But it's not all about parochialism or sheer madness. Shape matters, and when it comes to the "pasta alla Norma", the doctrine is divided. I am not going to plunge into the abyss of the Italian minds, and unravel all the subtle arguments in favour of a specific type ("catanesella" vs. "mezzo pacchero", for instance). And I can't even solve the high-level issue of whether the recipe is more suited for "pasta lunga" (spaghetti, linguine, etc.) or "pasta corta" (maccheroni, penne, etc.). All I can do is provide a Solomonic criterion based on usability. Once again, the solution is imposed by that one diva of a vegetable patronising the entire recipe: the aubergine. If it's diced in small cubes, "pasta corta" is the way to go, but if it's sliced and then cut in stripes, then "pasta lunga" is de rigueur.

Good recipes, like good music, are about creating and releasing tension, and la "pasta alla Norma" does it wonderfully. In its rustic simplicity, is a masterpiece.

And here lies the last link with its city.

Catania, like most of Sicily, is full of contradictions: beautiful and ugly, refined and rough, elegant and vulgar, ancient and new; but it happens to be all these things at once and - because of it - is unique. The "pasta alla Norma" is, like Catania, defined by its contrasts: crisp and smooth, fresh and fried, sharp and sweet. All in one plate, as perfectly balanced as a well-crafted opera melody.

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• Pasta alla norma