Rigatoni with 20-Minute Sunday Gravy
Family Dinner
When I was a kid, Sunday afternoon meant dinner at Mama's, my paternal grandmother. We'd all pile into the family Buick and my dad would drive the short distance to her house.
I knew what to expect, and looked forward to it. Mama had been up since the crack of dawn preparing her gravy; the dark, rich tomato sauce that embellished giant bowls of macaroni (which refers to any type of dried pasta) and platters of tender braised beef, meatballs and homemade sausages.
My many cousins would already be there, tearing through the tiny house, doing their best to aim a football at Mama's collection of Hummel figurines. I'd find Papa, my grandfather, sitting at the kitchen table drinking a beer with a raw egg floating on top, chain-smoking Lucky Strikes.
Soon, a steady stream of people would file into the kitchen; aunts, uncles, cousins twice-removed. Mama would put some homemade red wine on the table, along with a saucer of olive oil seasoned with salt, pepper and fennel seed for dipping crunchy, cold celery hearts.
Papa's job was to break pounds of long hollow noodles into ziti-sized pieces while Mama brought a huge stockpot of water to a boil.
Now when my own kids come running into the kitchen asking when their food will be ready, I can remember how impatient I was for the pasta to cook. I was hungry! Why did the grown-ups seem to spend so much time yelling, smoking and drinking?
Mama never once sat down, not even when finally, the steaming pasta was set on the table. I made sure to find a spot on my father's lap, because Mama's table wasn't big enough for all of us to sit down at once, and it was first come, first served.
Since I don't have or care to spend an entire day preparing pasta sauce, I've come up with my own interpretation of Mama's gravy. She'd probably think it sacrilege, but it's my way of conjuring up a taste of those Sunday afternoons.
I knew what to expect, and looked forward to it. Mama had been up since the crack of dawn preparing her gravy; the dark, rich tomato sauce that embellished giant bowls of macaroni (which refers to any type of dried pasta) and platters of tender braised beef, meatballs and homemade sausages.
My many cousins would already be there, tearing through the tiny house, doing their best to aim a football at Mama's collection of Hummel figurines. I'd find Papa, my grandfather, sitting at the kitchen table drinking a beer with a raw egg floating on top, chain-smoking Lucky Strikes.
Soon, a steady stream of people would file into the kitchen; aunts, uncles, cousins twice-removed. Mama would put some homemade red wine on the table, along with a saucer of olive oil seasoned with salt, pepper and fennel seed for dipping crunchy, cold celery hearts.
Papa's job was to break pounds of long hollow noodles into ziti-sized pieces while Mama brought a huge stockpot of water to a boil.
Now when my own kids come running into the kitchen asking when their food will be ready, I can remember how impatient I was for the pasta to cook. I was hungry! Why did the grown-ups seem to spend so much time yelling, smoking and drinking?
Mama never once sat down, not even when finally, the steaming pasta was set on the table. I made sure to find a spot on my father's lap, because Mama's table wasn't big enough for all of us to sit down at once, and it was first come, first served.
Since I don't have or care to spend an entire day preparing pasta sauce, I've come up with my own interpretation of Mama's gravy. She'd probably think it sacrilege, but it's my way of conjuring up a taste of those Sunday afternoons.
20-minute Sunday gravy
for one pound of pasta
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon ground fennel seed
1/3 cup red wine
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 28-ounce can plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano
1/2 cup fresh basil or Italian parsley
1/2 pound ground beef, turkey, or pork( to make this vegetarian-friendly, substitute crumbled soy protein such as Morningstar Farms )
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese
Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic and fennel and cook, stirring, until softened but not browned, about 3 minutes. Pour in the wine and bring to a boil. Cook until the wine is reduced to a syrupy glaze, then add the tomato paste, tomatoes and basil or parsley. Season generously with salt and freshly ground black pepper; cover and simmer 15 minutes.
In a large nonstick skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon oil until shimmering. Add the ground beef; cook, breaking up with a spoon, until done.
Puree sauce with an immersion blender until semi-smooth. Stir in cooked beef and serve over hot rigatoni pasta. Pass the cheese grater at the table.
for one pound of pasta
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon ground fennel seed
1/3 cup red wine
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 28-ounce can plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano
1/2 cup fresh basil or Italian parsley
1/2 pound ground beef, turkey, or pork( to make this vegetarian-friendly, substitute crumbled soy protein such as Morningstar Farms )
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese
Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic and fennel and cook, stirring, until softened but not browned, about 3 minutes. Pour in the wine and bring to a boil. Cook until the wine is reduced to a syrupy glaze, then add the tomato paste, tomatoes and basil or parsley. Season generously with salt and freshly ground black pepper; cover and simmer 15 minutes.
In a large nonstick skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon oil until shimmering. Add the ground beef; cook, breaking up with a spoon, until done.
Puree sauce with an immersion blender until semi-smooth. Stir in cooked beef and serve over hot rigatoni pasta. Pass the cheese grater at the table.
Copyright (c) 2007 FamilyStyle Food
