Agnolotti Recipe

If you ask ten Piedmontese cooks what agnolotti are, you may get twelve answers. Agnolotti can be small or large; square or rectangular; pinched or not; served in broth, melted butter, al tovagliolo (on a napkin without sauce), or with roast drippings; and stuffed with meat, greens, or a mix of both. Trying to define a single “authentic” agnolotto is like trying to define a single “authentic” lasagna—good luck doing that without starting a fight in Bologna.

Still, there are patterns. In the hills of the Langhe and Monferrato—Barolo country—the form most closely associated with the name is agnolotti del plin. Plin means “pinch” in the dialect of Piedmont, and refers to the shaping technique: Long sheets of pasta are folded over a line of filling, then pinched at intervals before being separated with a pastry wheel. It’s one of Italy’s most efficient dumpling designs, producing dozens in a row without the fuss of cutting each one individually. If you’ve ever spent an afternoon punching out ravioli, the Piedmontese plin method feels like a rhythmic, easier alternative. 

My recipe below follows the Langa-style tradition: a finely ground, cooked filling made from braised meat and greens, wrapped in thin sheets of egg dough and shaped with the classic plin pinch.

Agnolotti Through the Regional Lens

What becomes clear when looking through historical Piedmontese cookbooks—like the ones this recipe draws on—is that agnolotti weren’t invented to be a singular, codified thing. They were a practical solution to the question of “What do we do with yesterday’s roast?” That meant they evolved differently in each valley and village, depending on what meats, greens, and cheeses were available. Some older recipes include rabbit, pork shoulder, sweetbreads, calf brain, and even donkey. Many mix meats with greens like cabbage, spinach, or chard. Some call for a hint of tomato; others insist tomato never belongs anywhere near the filling.

Interestingly, fresh pasta recipes show variation too: Some use only eggs; others enrich with a splash of wine or oil; some add extra yolks; some keep the dough lean. But across these recipes, you start to see recurring ratios by volume or weight—roughly 100 grams of flour per egg, give or take—which produces a supple dough thin enough for plin’s pinch-and-fold structure.

Despite the dizzying variety, Piedmontese cooks do agree on a few core principles. The filling should be cohesive—not runny, not chunky. The pasta should be an egg-enriched, soft-wheat doughsimilar to the region’s other famous fresh pasta, tajarin. And it needs to be thin. Very thin. The shaping technique relies on that thinness: If the sheet is too thick, folding it over the filling creates a double layer so bulky it turns gummy once cooked, and the ratio of dough to filling swings out of balance. A properly thin sheet folds cleanly, seals easily with a light press, and lets the filling dominate instead of being smothered in dough.

When you cut between the pinches with a fluted wheel, each dumpling folds slightly onto itself, creating the plump, curved shape that defines the plin. That pinch is both decorative and structural. Pinch too lightly, and you risk leaks. Pinch too hard and the dough tears.

Building the Filling

While many Langhe and Monferrato versions historically relied on leftover roasts for the filling, this recipe builds those flavors intentionally from scratch using beef short ribs for their rich, meaty flavor. They’re braised with savoy cabbage, onion, garlic, rosemary, red wine, and broth—aromatics that show up again and again in Piedmontese recipes. Cabbage, especially, is a classic winter addition and softens into the meat, contributing sweetness and moisture without making the filling loose.

After cooking, the mixture is ground to the fine texture most Piedmontese recipes insist on. Traditional cooks used a mezzaluna or a meat grinder, running the mixture through until it resembled a pâté. I use a food processor for practicality, but the goal is the same: To produce a filling that pipes cleanly and holds its shape during cooking. Grana Padano, an egg, and a touch of nutmeg complete the mixture, giving it structure and rounding the flavor.

How to Shape Agnolotti del Plin

For anyone unfamiliar with this shaping method, plin can look intimidating at first. But with just a little practice, you’ll find your rhythm and realize how astonishingly efficient it is.

Trim a sheet of pasta to a consistent width, pipe a straight line of filling down the center, then fold the bottom edge up to meet the top. Seal lightly—just enough so the dough sticks to itself—then pinch at one-inch intervals to create individual pockets. If your pinches end up slightly smaller or larger, don’t worry. There’s no single “correct” size. As long as your dough is rolled to an even thinness and the filling is piped evenly, the agnolotti will cook at the same rate.

A confident roll of the pastry wheel between each pinch separates the dumplings and folds them in one motion. It’s an incredibly fast way to produce a large batch of filled pasta.

How to Sauce and Serve

Agnolotti are traditionally served in ways that highlight the filling rather than overshadow it. Popular options include:

• with roast drippings (sugo d’arrosto),
• with brown butter and sage,
• in broth,
• or al tovagliolo—literally “on the napkin,” meaning on a warm cloth with no sauce, a minimalist presentation that showcases the pasta and filling,
• and, when the season allows (and the wallet allows it), with shaved white truffle.

My version nods to Piedmont’s hazelnut heritage—home of the tonda gentile delle langhe—by finishing the pasta in brown butter with toasted hazelnuts and a splash of red wine vinegar. The vinegar brightens the beef’s richness, creating a meaty flavor that pops.

This recipe sits firmly within the Piedmontese tradition: thin, egg-rich soft-wheat dough; a cooked, finely ground filling balancing meat and greens; a shaping method that produces small, efficient dumplings; and a simple sauce that amplifies rather than competes. It’s not a replica of a pasta from any one trattoria, but unmistakably part of the entire lineage.