Passport & Plate - Sugo alla Bolognese
Italy | Wednesday, March 4, 2015 | 3 photos
Ingredients
2 onions
2 cups of chopped celery
2 cups of chopped carrots
1 stick of butter + additional
Olive oil
1 lb. ground veal
1 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef
2 garlic cloves
3 bay leaves
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon marjoram
1 teaspoon paprika
Salt and pepper
2 mushroom bouillons
Red wine
2 tablespoons of flour
½ cup of milk or cream
1 lb. of chopped or puréed tomato sauce (2 containers of Pomì, about 4 cups)
Optional: handful of basil leaves
Parmiggiano reggiano for finishing
How to prepare this recipe
Directions:
1. Sauté the chopped onions, celery, and carrots in either 1 stick of butter and 3 tablespoons of olive oil, or ½ stick of butter and 5 tablespoons of olive oil.
2. When the onions are colored and all of the vegetables are tender, add the veal, pork, and beef. Sauté until the meats change color.
3. Add chopped garlic cloves, bay leaves, nutmeg, allspice, marjoram, paprika, and salt and pepper to taste. Add 2 mushroom bouillons. Let cook for a few minutes.
4. Add 1 cup of red wine. Let evaporate.
5. Add 2 tablespoons of flour. Mix for two minutes.
6. Add ½ cup of milk or of cream. Stir for five minutes until liquid evaporates.
7. Add Pomì or other tomato sauce. Add a handful of basil leaves if available. Let sauce reach boiling point while stirring. Then, reduce heat and let the sauce summer for at least 3 hours, stirring occasionally. (The longer, the better!)
8. Prepare pasta. Add butter. Combine with Bolognese sauce.
9. Serve with parmiggiano reggiano.
The story behind this recipe
The first time I prepared my father’s Bolognese sauce, I was studying abroad in Bologna. I could have ducked into the osteria around the corner for a steaming plate of handmade tagliatelle con ragù – but I must confess that I didn’t enjoy Bologna‘s classic ragù very much. It was too dry, too simple. I preferred my father’s Bolognese, thick and saucy, the one I’ve eaten every Christmas for as long as I can remember. The one that my father makes in a chaotic kitchen, my mother and I feeding fresh pasta dough through the machine for delicate spinach lasagna, my sister stirring the besciamella, my aunt slicing oranges for dessert, my uncle washing dishes – all of us sweating and laughing and stealing a spoonful of sauce here, an orange slice there. This was the kind of meal I was hungering for on a dreary Friday in my new city.
I had just arrived in Bologna, and in an attempt to warm the cold halls of my student apartment and become friends with my Italian roommates, I had proposed an apartment dinner – a chance to sit down at the rickety table in the makeshift dining room together and share food, stories, and laughter. After spending the morning stirring and seasoning, I spent the rest of the day half-heartedly attempting to study and full-heartedly infusing the apartment with the thick smell of a simmering meat sauce that I hoped would bring us together.
Hours later, after we had all scraped our plates and even the sides of the saucepan clean, my roommates and I were sharing stories of dream travels and of lost love. It had been a success. By the end of my time in Bologna, I didn’t find a new family among my roommates, but I did fill that charm-less apartment with warm memories: the smell of slow-cooking Bolognese sauce, a floundered flan scraped from the pan with crooked spoons, and countless spilled stove-top espressos. These are, as my mother once called them, the “somatic memories, bodily memories, and emotional memories” that create a home – wherever you are.
NB. - I am currently living and working in Ghana, and don't have access to the ingredients to prepare the recipe. The photos I have posted are photos I took when I was preparing the dish in Bologna, and at a family holiday when we were also preparing sugo alla bolognese.
