Hello beloved subscriber,
Despite the rapturous applause to which the first newsletter was received, there was something in it I found... irksome.
Something I couldn't quite shake off.
Something I had to address.
Within it there lay a passage on perfecting pasta, and in that lay the problem. I never would've wanted to burden my readers so early on with any notion of perfection; cooking should so rarely regard "la perfezione", and so much more often "la passione."
I'd vowed the second newsletter would not detail pasta again, however we are in urgent need of passion's remedial workings and there is nothing more passionate than tomato sauce.
Or what Italians so affectionately refer to as...
Il Sugo
I am immediately lost when beginning to describe tomato sauce. I imagine that opening line does little to make the reader believe this will be a convincing piece on tomato sauce, but - please - bear with me.
It's simply that the magnitude of the task is so grand, its variations so endless, and its making dependent on so many things; the season... what you have at hand... what you goddamn feel inside your heart man!
As we approach our subject the questions are immediately maddening; which tomato should we use? Do we peel then chop? Peel then burst by hand? Make passata? Buy passata? Use tinned? Heat... cooking time... onion or garlic, basil or mint? Jesus! Which cheese for Pete's sake????
"Lord have mercy!" we proclaim.
And to our sweet relief, the Lord does. Â
For underneath it all, whichever strand you take, whichever cheese you grate, whichever texture you make, there are - I assure you - underlying laws to govern the chaos.
Laws... or perhaps tips? Or even guidance... like some strange map that can take you to a thousand different places, each unknown at the start, each guaranteed to be beautiful, and each journey like that of Ithica.
What follows is this set of guidance, this map, this blueprint for you to chop and choose as you wish. I would only ask that - when the time comes - you do not religiously follow as you go. Instead read this a few times, chew on it, digest it, then go forth and recreate...
Following the season...Â
Following what you have at hand...Â
Following what you goddamn feel inside your heart man!
Laws to govern the chaos
Il Pomodoro
Let's start with preparing the tomato (if you are using tinned or bottled passata - equally fine options - you can skip this step).
In summer try to buy fresh San Marzano tomatoes. These are fleshy and sweet and hence perfect for sauce. If you are cooking sauce for pasta you will need roughly twice the weight of fresh tomatoes to weight of dried pasta. However I always simply buy many, make too much sauce (if such a concept exists), add what I need come the time and save the rest for another day.
Fresh tomatoes can be prepared in three ways:
1. Cut a shallow cross on the top and bottom of each tomato and blanch in boiling water for a minute (or until the skin starts to split), then drain and cool in cold water before removing the skin. Chop roughly (or as you feel) - some even remove the seeds at this point.
2. (My favourite) Follow above steps to skin tomatoes, but then crush the tomatoes in your bare hands. This will inevitably cause many explosions of juice over every surrounding surface, but this lets you know that you are alive. I often do this directly into the pan after having followed the infusing the oil step below.
3. (Actually maybe my favourite) This requires a vegetable mill, which I’d recommend owning if only for this purpose alone. Put tomatoes in a pan with a lid with a bit of olive oil and a little water and cook on medium-low heat. After 10-15 minutes or so the cooking by steam will have softened them. Drain and pass through a vegetable mill, which now gives you passata, meaning "passed."
Infusing the oil
At heart Sugo is made from the marriage of two things: olive oil and tomato. The quality of the oil and the tomatoes is therefore paramount, and assuming this has been met, there is then only a question of how you treat your oil.
But first let's address the question of quantity. I've never measured my oil, I only know that to my taste it should be abundant and the degree of this abundance changes with my spirits and the freedom one feels upon the day. However you should at least aim to form a pool in the bottom of the pan, for this is crucial in the following step:
The oil is to be heated gently with a little garlic or a little onion; garlic for pungency, or onion for sweetness (though if your feeling dictates both, then you are the boss):Â
Heat your golden pool on low heat with a clove or two of garlic or a half of onion (you can chop, but I often leave whole). This quantity will do roughly for one tin of tomatoes or ~800g fresh.
As they cook, tilt the pan so that these aromatics are submerged and gently bubbling and poaching in the oil.
Do this for five minutes or so, until they go blonde but do not brown. A few pinches of chilli flakes also do not go amiss here, and some rebels may add a spring of rosemary, and the most daring even... a couple of anchovies.
How to make it bubble
The moment that follows is one of the most glorious in all of cooking; pouring tomato pulp into sizzling and aromatic golden oil.
This can be done explosively by bursting tomatoes in your hands to sizzles and splurts, or smoothly, pouring in passata like a river. If using basil (the grandest herb for the occasion), add a few leaves at this point.
You can now either go low and slow, letting it cook down on lowest heat for hours in that iconic Italian style with the lid on but gently tilted (this causes the sauce to reduce more slowly). Or if time or passion gets the better of you, go higher and faster. The quick approach retains the sweetness, while the longer adds depth. My preference is fast in the summer (who wants to spend too much time near the heat anyway?) and slow and brooding for the winter, where I re-enter the room all morning to be the allure of ever metamorphosing tomatoes.
Whichever approach you pick, the aim is to cook it down until the oil has separated from the tomatoes and the sauce is thickened. At this point you can turn the heat off, remove the onions and garlic, or blend them, or hell, keep them in as they are.
Tossing with pasta
Tomato sauce is not just for pasta. You can have it with fried aubergines, meatballs, toss boiled vegetables in it (like spinach and other greens), braise vegetables in it (like green beans) or have it with eggs (toast with a little tomato sauce and scrambled eggs, oh la la).
However it is best with pasta. So on to the simplest step, which involves tossing your drained pasta into the pan with the sauce and swishing it about, tossing like a pancake as we discussed before and loosening with a little pasta water if you feel necessary. If using mint, dried oregano or some other herb, you can chuck in now and stir a little more.
Add a splosh more extra virgin olive oil like they do in the North of Italy, but know that this mixing of cooked and raw oil would upset those from the south. If you are taken away with the moment, you can add a handful of grated parmesan or pecorino into the pan with maybe a little more pasta water and stir until it becomes creamier.
Use tongs to put pasta on everyone's plates and leave some more fresh herbs and grated cheese for everyone to add at their own will (why should only your choices dictate this sugo's flow?).
Enjoy
No sugo will be the same so embrace and savour it's singularity in the moment you taste it. The ultimate flavour will only ever be as good as the love you felt as you made it.
As St. John's Fergus Henderson knew well, "enjoy your cooking and the food will behave; moreover it will pass your pleasure on to those who eat it."
Buon appetito.
Wonderful read. I can almost smell the onions in the olive oil! I very much looking forward to giving it a go.