More than forty years ago, I returned from a college semester in Rome to a New York still awash in thick tomato sauce. My Roman discovery, spaghetti alla carbonara, was still unknown, and my friends were skeptical of a sauce that wasn't red. Today Americans have adopted carbonara with a vengeance and feel free to vary it as they please. But while it is very tempting to add things to the basic carbonara, and far be it from us to step on your creativity, don't call it carbonara if you add mushrooms or peas or anything else.
The carbonara wars are even more heated than the amatriciana wars. Not even Oretta and I agree on every detail. Oretta feels some oil helps the guanciale to cook evenly, while I, from a North American bacon culture, find that starting the guanciale in a cold pan will render enough fat to obtain the same result without introducing another ingredient and another flavor, especially one that the inventors of the dish did not use. If you start playing with the formula to reduce the cholesterol, however, just skip it and make a broccoli sauce.
The more or less civil disagreements are over minor variations. There is debate over whether to use whole eggs or just yolks (it's unlikely the pastoral creators of the dish were going to whip up a meringue with the unused whites) and whether parmigiano is admissible—yes, it's widely accepted on grounds of deliciousness, but pecorino romano alone is more faithful to the lost original. Experts and aficionados pretty much agree that the meat of choice should be guanciale, with pancetta as understudy. Bacon, which is smoked, imparts an undesirable breakfasty taste. No butter, no cream—but a slosh of starchy pasta water can be used to smooth things out if you start to panic.
It is incorrect to speak of "carbonara sauce" because the dish belongs to the group of pastas that are inseparable from their condiment. The ingredients are prepped and ready for action, but the "sauce"—a golden cream studded with glistening guanciale bits—is created right on the pasta itself. And, careful, "cream" here means something creamy. There is no cream in carbonara. The charcoal makers of northern Lazio, Abruzzo, and Umbria used to make it outdoors. Do you think they used butter and cream?
This simple dish requires practice; don't make it for company till you've tried it in private. You will eventually develop your own moves and rhythm and find just the spot in your kitchen where everything will keep warm without cooking. Long ago I became devoted to the Salton Hotray®, an electric food warmer and popular wedding present in the era of my first marriage. I still love it for carbonara (and much else).
Use the best, freshest eggs you can find, and don't even think of making this dish with eggs from stressed-out battery chickens. You can taste the difference. If you can find real guanciale, so much the better. Once the eggs have been added to the pasta, do not let the pan touch the heat directly or you will wind up with scrambled eggs. A low setting on an electric food warmer, like my old Hotray, is safe and effective.
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