Pasta alla Carrettiera, or Cart Drivers’ Pasta, was a dish mentioned in my book. When a friend asked me about it, I figured I would share what I found here. To be honest, I’d never heard of this dish before. But it caught my attention during my research when I discovered that my great-grandfather’s occupation was listed on his marriage certificate as carrettiere—a cart driver. Suddenly, this simple pasta dish felt like a thread connecting me to him, to Sicily, and to a way of life long gone.

Back in the mid to late 1800s, Sicily was a different world.While there were some trains in Sicily in the mid to late 1800s, there were none in Pedara and the surrounding towns. Goods were moved from one town to another by a cart pulled by a horse, mule, or donkey. Men like my great-grandfather were the backbone of this system, hauling their wares along dusty roads, winding through the foothills of Mount Etna. It wasn’t an easy life. They were often away from home for days, sleeping under the stars or in makeshift shelters, and they had to fend for themselves when it came to food.

That’s where Pasta alla Carrettiera comes in. This dish was the go-to meal for cart drivers, and when you look at how it’s made, it’s easy to see why. It’s the kind of recipe that screams practicality—simple ingredients, no fuss, and a big punch of flavor. Picture this: a tired carrettiere pulls his cart to the side of the road as the sun dips low. He builds a small campfire, sets a pot of water to boil, and tosses in some dried spaghetti. While the pasta cooks, he’s grating a couple of ripe tomatoes (fresh from a market stall or maybe even his own cart), mincing a few cloves of garlic, and tearing up some basil leaves. A drizzle of olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a dash of pepper, and the sauce is done—no cooking required. He mixes it all together, maybe sprinkles on some Pecorino Romano if he’s got it, and sits down to a meal that’s hearty, fragrant, and comforting after a long day.

What I love about this dish is how it reflects the life of the cart drivers. They didn’t have fancy kitchens or a pantry full of options. They carried what was light and lasted: dried pasta, olive oil, maybe some garlic bulbs or a chunk of cheese wrapped in cloth. Tomatoes and basil were easy to come by in Sicily, especially in the warmer months. If they were traveling in leaner times, they might’ve swapped fresh tomatoes for something preserved, like sun-dried ones. The beauty of Pasta alla Carrettiera is its flexibility. In some parts of Sicily, like Trapani, they’d add ground almonds for a nutty twist, calling it Pesto alla Trapanese. Other times, they might toss in breadcrumbs for crunch or skip the tomatoes altogether for a simpler garlic-and-oil version. It was a dish that adapted to what was on hand, just like the cart drivers adapted to the road.

Learning about this dish made me think about my great-grandfather, rattling along those Sicilian roads with his cart. I wonder what he carried, who he met, what stories he told around the fire. Was he the kind of man who savored his plate of Pasta alla Carrettiera, maybe sharing it with another driver passing by? Or was he too tired, scarfing it down before rolling out his blanket for the night? I’ll never know, but imagining him preparing this dish feels like a small way to step into his world.

Pasta alla Carrettiera wasn’t just food—it was survival, ingenuity, and a taste of home for men far from their families. They called it a “poor man’s dish,” but there’s nothing poor about its flavor. Garlic, tomatoes, basil, olive oil—these are the heart of Sicilian cooking, ingredients that pack a punch and make you feel alive. It’s no wonder this dish has stuck around, still showing up on Sicilian tables today, though maybe with a few modern tweaks.

I couldn’t resist trying Pasta alla Carrettiera myself, so last night, I whipped it up for dinner, feeling a little like my great-grandfather as I diced tomatoes and minced garlic. The smell of basil and olive oil filled the air, and when I took my first bite, I got it—why this dish was a cart driver’s lifeline. It’s simple but bold, the kind of meal that warms you from the inside out. (I wanted to be authentic and prepare it with spaghetti but I ran out.)

As I savored it, I thought about those dusty Sicilian roads and the stories locked in every plate of this pasta. I’d love to hear from you. Have you tried a recipe that connects you to your roots, or maybe you’re inspired to give this one a go? Let me know, and let’s keep these old flavors alive.