Infuriate the Italians in Your Life with This Tofu Skin 'Pasta'

Stuart Brioza is a soft-spoken guy. But when he does speak, he does so deliberately and concisely. He’s moving around the MUNCHIES Test Kitchen on the day of his visit in much the same way.

Brioza and his wife, pastry chef Nicole Krasinski, are the chef-owners of State Bird Provisions in San Francisco, which opened in 2012. It quickly developed a cult following, with its creative, infinitely-Instagrammable small plate selections served dim sum-style, with waiters wheeling carts loaded with choices through the dining room. The restaurant’s name is a hat-tip to its signature dish, the “CA State Bird with Provisions,” which is a brined, breaded and fried quail, served over slow-cooked and slightly jammy onions. The “provisions” are the small plates, which can be chosen at random from the ever-changing dishes on the roving carts to blanket the table as quail accompaniments.

Brioza and Krasinski joined us in the Test Kitchen to celebrate the launch of their first cookbook, a collection of verifiable bangers and fan favorites from the last five years of State Bird’s success. They’ve chosen to make something that epitomizes their unconventional-without-being-absurd approach to old school dishes—a riff on a classic Roman-style amatriciana sauce, with wide-cut slices of yuba, or tofu skins, in place of pasta.

“My non-existent Roman grandmother would roll over in her grave,” Brioza says, drily. He unfolds each sheet of tofu skin—which is the thin film that develops on the top of soy milk that is being boiled to turn into tofu—then slices them into wide noodle-like strands, like a soy papardelle.

A traditional amatriciana, like most Italian dishes, has no one true recipe, which inspires blind rage in those who find fault with an ingredient list. We’re ready for your internet ire, and we say bring it.

If the yuba wasn’t bad enough, Brioza plans on adding chanterelle mushrooms to his sauce, something the mayor of Amatrice himself would have some choice words about. He cleans the stems first so they’re not too woody and tough, then quarters them.

Not willing to incur the wrath of all of Rome, he keeps it traditional with thin-sliced guanciale and red pepper flakes. Once the fat renders out of the pork jowl, the mushrooms get tossed with extra butter and sautéed until golden brown. The yub-oodles get tossed to coat in the porky fat.

For test kitchen purposes, Brioza takes another short cut that would have his fictional Roman grandmother cursing him from the afterlife—using canned tomatoes. A bit more butter and a healthy portion of shaved pecorino are stirred in next.

For a fresh contrast to the rich sauce, he adds some torn basil leaves and sliced heirloom cherry tomatoes. He finishes this beautiful act of sacrilege with a drizzle of finishing olive oil, more shaved pecorino, and a generous amount of cracked pepper. (You can now stop clutching your pearls. It is very good.)