A Little Lost Recipe
Some astonishing vintage menus. Poetry and porridge.
Last week, when I wrote about Marcella Hazan, I linked to her best-loved recipe. Once, when I asked Marcella about this delightfully simple tomato sauce she said, “You mean the one with the honion?”
Part of the genius of that recipe is that Marcella used canned tomatoes. But now that tomato season is on the horizon I want to offer you my favorite recipe for fresh tomato sauce.
But first, an aside: this recipe was originally intended to be part of Save Me the Plums. When I wrote the book I included a recipe in each chapter but my editor, the late Susan Kamil, strongly objected. She thought the recipes “interrupted the flow of the narrative,” and insisted I take them all out. In the end, we compromised, and I included a small handful. This recipe, however, got lost.
It was intended for the chapter called Editor of the Year, which begins on page 215. (Incidentally, the shop I am referring to is Di Palo’s in New York’s Little Italy, one of my favorite places on the planet.)
“Ruthie,” Lou Di Palo cried when we walked through the door. He emerged from behind the counter, and as he gave me a brief, unaccustomed hug I inhaled his scent. He had the clean smell of cheese and toast. His brother Sal and sister Theresa contented themselves with small waves.
“We’ve known Ruthie forever.” Lou released me and turned his considerable charm on Tony. “In those days she was just a neighborhood kid who liked to cook. Who knew she would rise to such heights?”
“I used to come here,” I slipped effortlessly into the familiar comfort of this conversation, “and stand in the endless line while Lou romanced the Mafia moms.”
“You didn’t hear that.” Lou reached out, miming covering Tony’s ears.
“‘You like to cook?” they’d say to me and then start reeling off recipes. I was standing right here when I learned to make that fresh pasta in my first cookbook. And I still use the Sunday sauce I got from one lady.”
“I bet that was Mrs. Bergamini,” said Lou.
Mrs. Bergamini’s Fresh Tomato Sauce
This recipe relies on the irresistible taste of really good tomatoes, so it’s best in late summer, when tomatoes are at their peak. But these days most supermarkets sell wonderfully wrinkled heirloom tomatoes during most of the milder months, and they work well. In high summer however, made with just-picked tomatoes, this might be my very favorite food.
It is certainly the most comforting.
3 pounds fresh heirloom tomatoes
Splash of olive oil
Pinch of red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper
1 pound spaghetti
Handful of basil leaves, shredded
2 tablespoons of butter
3-4 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan
Bring a pot of water to a boil and toss in the tomatoes for a minute or so. Drain in a colander and run cold water over them to cool them down.
Peel the tomatoes and cut them into large pieces. Pry the seeds out with your fingers and put them in a strainer set over a bowl. Save the liquid in the bowl and discard the seeds.
Heat the olive oil in a pan. Add hot pepper flakes, then squish the tomatoes in with your hands. Add a teaspoon of salt, a few grindings of pepper, and simmer the tomatoes for about half an hour, smashing them with a large spoon every few minutes. You want a chunky sauce. Gradually add the tomato liquid to the pot.
While the sauce cooks, bring water for pasta to a boil. Throw in some salt, toss in the dried spaghetti and cook about 3/4 of the way through; the timing will depend on the type and brand of pasta you use.
Taste the reduced tomato sauce and add salt and pepper to your liking. When the pasta is almost cooked, turn up the heat under the tomato sauce and scoop out a cup of the starchy pasta water. Add half of the pasta water to the tomato sauce, bring it to a boil and and add the pasta to the sauce. Stir and allow the pasta to absorb the liquid, adding more pasta water as needed, until it is perfectly al dente. Add the butter, basil and grated cheese and toss about a bit. Taste and add more salt if needed.
Serve, to four ecstatically happy people.
