Day 26: Never have I ever... channeled my inner Nonna

Ok, I admit it. I grew up in a jar sauce household. The only tomato sauce that ever passed these lips was made by dear old Aunt Millie (--------->) And, boy did we go through a lot of jars. Every week my mom would buy two or three. This was mainly because I dipped everything in tomato sauce. Chicken?  Only edible if dipped in tomato sauce. Steak? Same thing. Hamburgers... no first bite without a thin layer of sauce on top. Without tomato sauce, dinner would have been an endless fight, and I would have become protein-deficient. (For my even more picky sister, her magic food veil was applesauce. Our poor mother...)

I later learned... what I had been weaned on isn't real sauce. And there is nothing quite like a real Italian meal with homemade sauce. Thanks to many generous friends opening their homes and tables to me, I have had the privilege of tasting several different family recipes, every one of which was so good, I would eat it with a rusty spoon if that was the only available utensil.

But, a good sauce recipe is un affari famiglia. So when I decided to cast aside the inauthenticity of an American Irish Jew making sauce, I looked for a recipe that technically is in my family.... it just happens to be by marriage. My sister's husband's family is all about the homemade sauce. In fact, it was very important to my brother-in-law's mom (Linda) that she teach her new daughter-in-law (my sister) her sauce recipe. She passed along the family recipe several years ago, one Sunday afternoon in my sister's kitchen, about a year before she passed on. 

I called my sis and asked if she could email me what I was sure was going to be a very complicated recipe. No written recipe, she informed me. "Linda just taught me what to do by showing me, and now I can just do it." Wow. It was like... legend. 

My sister gave me verbal instructions on the phone and I wrote them down to the letter. Instead of a long list of ingredients I'd imagined, it was very simple: Crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, an onion, fresh basil, garlic, olive oil, S&P. All of those are the most versatile and tasty staples, and I could almost taste their alchemic combination. 

As with any good family recipe, there were a few secret tricks. After the crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, and generous amounts of chopped basil are mixed together, the recipe calls for a whole large onion to be put right into the sauce. I cut the ends of a large whitey, peeled the skin, and submerged the onion, whole and raw, with skepticism. I let this simmer for about three hours on it's own. 

Next, I made the meatballs. This isn't part of Linda's recipe, so I just made my own basic meatball recipe, which isn't anything fancy: Ground sirloin, an egg, whole wheat seasoned bread crumbs, minced fresh onion and garlic, a half a cup of finely grated parmesan, italian spices and S&P. Knead, and ball... presto! I browned the balls lightly, and then plopped them in the sauce to cook through (meatballs in the sauce IS part of Linda's recipe to impart flavor.) 

After 4 hours of total simmering, the onion was not only fully cooked, but beginning to get floppy and fall apart. I could smell all of the onion-y flavor that it had released into the sauce. The last step for the final hour of cooking, also known as secret #2: thinly slice an entire head of garlic and sauté in generous amount of olive oil, and then combine the garlicky oil into the sauce. It was very important not to burn the garlic at this step, my sister told me. The aroma explosion of the garlic and olive oil was wonderful. The garlic almost melted in to the oil, just as my sister said it would, and then I poured the whole bubbling skillet into the crock to simmer for the last hour. 

il risultato finale

All in all, the recipe was simple to execute. I had to fight the urge to make it more complex, which is a knee-jerk reaction to my general mediocrity in the kitchen. What about some wine, I thought? Wine makes everything better. How about some parsley... parsley adds a verdant burst of flavor. Or some oregano. What about a Bay Leaf? Two tablespoons of sugar? A 1/4 cup of beef broth? I reined myself in, and had faith in the simplicity of the ingredients and the expertise of the recipe. After all, this was tradition, and you don't monkey with tradition. 

Results: The effort took the better part of a day. But the meal was simple and delicious. It was accompanied by a glass of Bordeaux, and dressed by more fresh parm. I served the bright red sauce over the healthy-schmealthy penne enriched with protein and omega 3s, which made me feel slightly better about my carb-heavy dinner. But the fresh sauce would have really shone over tender, homemade linguini. Maybe next blog post.  

Status: Success, with a lotta leftovers. And sending thanks up to Linda and her Nonna (recipe courtesy of her cucina) for passing the legend on to an extended branch of her family.