Narrator: This is the rarest pasta in the world.
The key to making su filindeu, or "threads of God,"
is stretching and folding dough over and over
and over again until it turns into 256 even strands.
For a century,
the techniques were practiced
by a single family in the Sardinian town of Nuoro
who made the dish solely for religious celebrations.
Now, Luca Floris is one of only seven locals making it here.
Narrator: This secrecy nearly led to the pasta's disappearance,
but now it's finding new producers and customers abroad.
This new audience could save the rare pasta from extinction.
But will this expansion also strip away
the cultural and religious significance of the dish?
We went to Italy to see how the tradition
of making "threads of God" is still standing.
Although making su filindeu is complex,
the ingredients are simple:
semolina flour, water, and salt.
Luca mixes them together to form a dough.
Narrator: Getting the dough completely smooth
can take up to 20 minutes.
Narrator: He alternates between adding drops of salt brine
and fresh water as he needs.
Narrator: Stretching is the key to su filindeu's thin strands.
In one swift motion, Luca folds the dough in half
to make two pieces, then four, then eight.
He continues until he forms
256 perfectly even threads of pasta.
Each one is as thin as a strand of hair.
Narrator: Luca has to be careful not to break
any of the strands as he places them
on a traditional wicker base called a fundu.
It's made of asphodel,
a plant that grows throughout the region.
Narrator: Layering is the key
to su filndeu's mesh-like design.
It's also the trickiest step of the process for Luca.
The strands cannot be moved once they're on the fundu,
so he has to be precise.
He removes any excess dough from the edges
before working on the next section.
Narrator: Luca only has 20 minutes to finish all three layers.
Narrator: For the people of Nuoro, su filindeu is sacred.
Traditionally, the dish was prepared only twice a year
during celebrations to honor St. Francis.
Pilgrims from Nuoro would travel 20 miles to his shrine.
Women from a local family would gather
and prepare bowls of su filindeu
for those who completed the trek.
Narrator: This hasn't changed since at least the 19th century.
Narrator: But generations of secrecy have left only a handful
of people in Nuoro with the knowledge
and interest to make the dish.
In 2021, a su filindeu maker from the family
divulged the recipe to other women in the community
in an effort to keep the dish from disappearing.
Other Nuoro residents like Luca stepped in
to keep the tradition alive.
But for him, finding a teacher was impossible.
Narrator: Luca decided to take matters into his own hands.
Narrator: Slowly, Luca started getting inquiries from chefs
in Canada, England, China, Germany, and beyond.
Narrator: Over 6,000 miles away, outside of Los Angeles,
one of Luca's students is bringing new life to su filindeu.
Chef Rob Gentile has spent over 20 years
bringing the flavors of his Italian background
to fine dining restaurants in Canada and the US.
It was always this, like, holy grail of pasta,
and I always wanted to learn how to make it.
It's just one of those things. It's like,
before I die, I want to know how to make su filindeu.
Narrator: For years, Rob struggled to find a teacher.
But when the masters in Nuoro
finally began sharing their knowledge,
he jumped at the opportunity.
Rob: It started to become, like,
how do we keep this tradition alive?
How do we encourage the people who are excited about it
to foster this amazing product?
And this is where I met Luca.
Narrator: Rob spent hours watching and learning
how to knead and stretch the dough in Luca's home.
Rob: I was like, I can do this. It's not that difficult.
Because Luca made it look so easy.
It was a very memorable moment in my entire life.
I was like, couldn't even believe this.
Narrator: Now, Rob is featuring su filindeu
on the menu at his restaurant, Stella West Hollywood.
I just felt like it was something special
that people needed to try.
And every time I've introduced someone to it,
it's a magical thing to eat.
Narrator: As su filindeu expands
to restaurants outside of Sardinia,
awareness of the dish's cultural
and religious significance could fade over time.
But Luca and Rob believe
that shouldn't stop people from sharing how to make it.
Rob: I think that it can be appreciated
as a technique in a pasta,
and we could do things like zuppa di pesce with it
and have fun with it.
But it can also be celebrated
as the religious tradition that it is.
It's an exciting time for su filindeu,
because it's never really been anywhere else
outside of Sardinia, and now it is.
Narrator: And though the pasta is finding new homes,
the tradition is still under threat in its birthplace.
That's because to make the pasta the authentic way,
you need a fundu,
and there are not that many people left making them.
Narrator: Giovanna Porchi has been weaving
since she was a small child.
Narrator: She starts by cutting the asphodel into thin strips.
This tool is made from cow bone.
Giovanna uses it to weave the plant into a round base.
In Sardinia,
women have passed down asphodel weaving for generations.
It was a source of income for people like Giovanna's mother.
Narrator: But today, the trade has virtually disappeared,
with only a few weavers remaining.
Narrator: Giovanna says young people
haven't shown any interest in learning the craft.
She's tried to teach women in her community,
but she says it hasn't caught on.
Narrator: Like weaving, the art of making su filindeu in Nuoro
is anything but widespread.
Narrator: This limited production
has also made the pasta expensive.
One kilo can cost 26 to 30 euros,
around 15 times the average price of pasta in Italy.
But Luca doesn't believe selling it is the key
to keeping this tradition alive.
Narrator: Instead, his focus is teaching it to others.
And he's putting his faith in people like Rob
to bring the dish worldwide.
Rob: They're part of culture, they're part of the cuisine.
It's just something that should be taught.
It should be carried on. It should move forward.
Narrator: While Luca doesn't know what the future holds,
he's proud of the work he's doing
to keep "threads of God" alive.