Taste: My Life through Food(16)

When the pasta is ready, the meat and the meatballs are removed from the sauce and set on a separate platter. The sauce is strained to ensure there are no rogue bone fragments and a ladleful is incorporated into the strained pasta, the rest being poured into a serving bowl, which can be added to each individual serving. The pasta is presented as a first course and sprinkled with grated Parmigiano or grated Pecorino Romano if your preference is the same as my paternal grandfather’s. The meat, which is now so soft it is falling off the bone, and the meatballs are served as a second course on a plate. Never are the pasta and the protein served together in this case. Were I to ever place a meatball in my pasta bowl (they were so good I couldn’t wait to get at them), I would be roundly chastised by my parents. I was not only ruining the intended flow of the meal but it was considered crass, not unlike eating bread with pasta. Meat, unless it is actually a part of the sauce, as with ragù alla Bolognese, is meant to be served separately, just as bread is meant to be eaten after pasta and only used as a “scarpetto” (meaning, in essence, “little shoe”) to mop up any excess sauce left in the bowl. These are the rules that have existed for generations, and I am happy to abide by them, as they make sense. Yes, I know there is a difference between dogma and “just the way things are because they should be that way” (which is also sort of the definition of dogma, I think), but the line between the two is thread thin when it comes to certain things culinary in my family.

It was the aroma of this ragù that I awakened to practically every Sunday morning of my childhood. Even today, when I am with my parents on a Sunday, it is this traditional meal that we share.

Here is the recipe for the Tucci family ragù:





Ragù Tucci


This is the traditional way the Tuccis make ragù. My maternal grandmother made a lighter version of this same sauce. It calls for spareribs and stewing beef in this recipe, but different cuts of meat may be added depending on what is on hand—pork chops, sausage, pig’s feet. It is delicious with polpette (meatballs), which may be added to the sauce during the last half hour of cooking. The sauce may be prepared two days ahead of serving. Refrigerate it overnight and reheat before tossing with the pasta. It may also be frozen with the meat and meatballs.

— SERVES 8 —

? cup olive oil

1 pound stewing beef, trimmed of fat, rinsed, patted dry, and cut into medium-size pieces

1 pound country-style spareribs, trimmed of fat, cut in half, rinsed, and patted dry

1 cup roughly chopped onions

3 garlic cloves, roughly chopped

? cup dry red wine

One 6-ounce can tomato paste

1 ? cups warm water, plus more as needed

8 cups canned whole plum tomatoes (about two 35-ounce cans), passed through a food mill or pureed in the blender

3 fresh basil leaves

1 tablespoon fresh oregano leaves, chopped, or 1 teaspoon dried



Warm the olive oil in a stew pot set over medium-high heat. Sear the stewing beef until brown on all sides, about 10 minutes. Remove from the pot and set aside in a bowl. Add the spareribs to the pot and sear until they are brown on all sides, about 10 minutes. Remove the ribs and set aside in the bowl with the stewing beef. (If your pot is big enough to hold all the meat in a single layer, it may be cooked at the same time.)

Stir the onions and garlic into the pot. Reduce the heat to low and cook until the onions begin to soften and lose their shape, about 5 minutes. Stir in the wine, scraping the bottom of the pot clean. Add the tomato paste. Pour ? cup of the warm water into the can to loosen any residual paste and then pour the water into the pot. Cook to warm the paste through, about 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes along with the remaining 1 cup warm water. Stir in the basil and oregano. Cover with the lid slightly askew and simmer to sweeten the tomatoes, about 30 minutes.

Return the meat to the pot along with any juices that have accumulated in the bowl. Cover with the lid slightly askew and simmer, stirring frequently, until the meat is very tender and the tomatoes are cooked, about 2 hours. Warm water may be added to the sauce, in ?-cup portions, if the sauce becomes too thick. (If you have made meatballs, they may be added during the last half hour of cooking. The meatballs will soften and absorb some of the sauce.)





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Since expressing those peeves of mine regarding pasta shapes and what sauces they should be coupled with was so satisfying, I am inclined to confess my feelings about another, even more egregious culinary crime that I have witnessed from time to time. It is the act… (I feel my blood pressure rising as I type. Jesus. I hope I make it through this without having a mini stroke or worse)… the act… (Fuck, I’m starting to sweat)… the act… (Breathe, breathe)… of a full-grown adult… cutting their spaghetti!!!!!!!

When I am privy to this act of sacrilege, in that instant, no matter how charming, intelligent, kind, or altruistic the perpetrator is, some of me will hate most of them forever. I will stare, aghast, and sigh, knowing that there is nothing for it. As David Mamet wrote in his great play American Buffalo, “The only way to teach these people is to kill them.”

However… breaking dry spaghetti, then cooking it and using it for certain recipes is welcomed.

Why?

I have no answer for you except, as I say to my children, “because I said so.” (Or really, it’s what my grandmother did and it worked, so I do it.)