It has been said that pastry is a science, while soups and stews are an art. I guess I must be more of an artist than a scientist. I love things that simmer, but can't make a good pie crust to save my ass.
Today was the perfect day to make some sauce. Gloomy and rainy. A nice time to have something simmering on the stove like my Mom always did.
There is no “recipe” for sauce (or "gravy" as the Italians say), that’s what makes it special. You throw in a little bit of this, a little bit of that. You stir and simmer and let the place fill up with the awesome aroma. You piddle and fiddle, chop and drain, stir and taste. Making good sauce involves discipline, because no matter good it smells, you know it takes hours and hours before it is really ready. Usually the next day is best, but we can’t wait that long.
First, fry up a bunch of sweet Italian sausage, pricked all over, then sliced up, sizziling in the pan until it is really groovy. You will know. Two pounds you say? PSHAW ! Heh, three pounds, and what won’t fit into the pot at its appointed time will be munched on as appetizers:
While the sausage is draining on paper towels, in the same pot simmer your onions. It MUST be in the same pot, as that is where all the goodness is (toss in some olive oil, which makes everything taste like it is from heaven). One cup of onions you say? PSHAW! At least two cups:
Add your green peppers and mushrooms. How much you ask? PHSAW with measuring !
Add the plum tomatoes (alas, canned variety), then some parsley straight from your apartment-garden:
Then some fresh tarragon and oregano, fresh cut from said apartment garden:
Throw in the sausage and previously-cooked hamburger. Then a cup of red wine. A cup, you say? PSHAW ! Throw in as much as makes you feel good:
Now, the waiting begins. Ahhhhhh, the smell is wonderful. Stirring now and again, letting the whole wonderfulness of the sauce fill the air.
So, I'm remembering my Mom and her simmering. Here I am doing the same thing. No measuring, just instinct. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. I'll find kind of pasta somewhere in these here cupboards and we'll have a nice meal tonight.
Thanks, Mom.
3 comments:
My mom used to make pasta sauce like that. One of these, two of those, handful of this, a dash of that. She always started off with a few pounds of italian sausage, peeled because my sister didn't like the casings. This let it get all crumbly.
I like to use Jimmy Dean's Tube O'Italian Sausage for a pound or two when I cook, if I can find it. I use it for my lasagna.
She'd cook aaaall day and get this huge pot full of sauce. She would use some of it, then freeze the rest in ziplock bags. She'd cut a frozen bag or two and reheat then in a sauce pan for a quick spaghetti dinner every now and then.
I did this twice, once when I lived on my own, back in the days when I had a kitchen and could cook without worry. I think it took me 6 months to go through all of that sauce.
The second time I tried it here with my in laws and they threw it all out a week later to make room for fish sticks. I was pissed.
Shirley, you forgot the cinnamon.
My favorite Italian cook when I was growing up insisted that was what made her sauce special. It's always got to have a few shakes of cinnamon, the secret ingredient.
When I cook Italian every odd step in the process says, take a sip of wine.
It is the first step.
1,3,5,7,9, ...
Where were the invitations?
Smile.
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