THE ALMIGHTY RAGU’ SAUCE

It was not uncommon for my Grandfather Giovanni, to trade with local farmers or butchers a case of fish in exchange for the odd cut of meat or trimmings that were left over from the cleaning of Rib-Eye or other such cuts.

In the time that I was not even conceived and my dad had yet to grow the thick pelt of fur on his chest (that is how my mum lovingly referred to it), Grandma Assunta was putting together all that she could gather from the family land, at the time. The war had not started and the orchards where pitiful. The olive trees produced a lot of oil and the mill is where the olives were crushed and the oil extracted, of which there were two situated in the Piazza dei Mulini where these emerald gems were taken to so as to extract that golden green essence. That has been on our family tale for as long as I can remember. There were two ways of carrying things back in the day, it was, for those who owned them, donkeys, which are still used to this day in construction firms, or, more commonly, be carried on your shoulder to wherever it was that you had to go.

My Grandmother’s family had a lot of land back in those days of turmoil as the world prepared to go to battle. When the scent of ill tidings was felt amongst the small village of a few hundred, they started sun drying summer fruits, such as figs and prunes as well as other things that allow for this method of preservation such as the tomato.

And it was that as I grew up in her kitchen observing and helping to prepare the meal of the day, I came to store the knowledge of this particular dish in not only the memory bands of my mind but also in the depths of my heart. Things being scarce even in my young age, fisher families in the south of Italy where not renowned for their wealth, most of the ingredients if not all except the meat was grown on her own land.

There is a particular art to this dish which requires patience and the understanding that good things always happen if you allow them enough time to occur by their own accord, and so, with a Passino, a hand cranked version of the modern blender, she would crush tomatoes from our orchard extracting their concentrated sun essence and aroma, put them aside and cut up a couple of cloves of garlic that were so strong no vampire with any sense would dare come within several miles of the habitation.

Then with a pestle and mortar we would grind down black peppercorns that would always make me sneeze a few dozen times, put a bunch of sundried prunes with the whole stone inside still in a small bowl and start assembling things. Bay leaves were next. We had so many of them, I managed to sneak a couple of offshoots from the trees in her orchard a couple of years ago and they are growing quite well in my littler garden where I live now. Next were the rind or two of parmesan cheese that she had ground to put on pasta and kept as this little piece of yellowish crust which would release its essences and flavors in the sauce as it would start to cook.

Then Grandma would put a generous amount of olive oil in a large deep pot, bearing in mind that she was feeding two dozen people, plop the garlic cloves inside and wait for them to sizzle. As soon as the latter commenced, in went the diced and thinly cut meat, bout a pound in today’s measurements if you want to feed 6 people abundantly. As you know, I used the trimming of the cross section of the rib-eye when I cut it out of the carcass. It is my absolute favorite cut of meat and the only one worthy of use in my humble opinion. Once the meat had sizzled for a short while in went the tomato sauce, skin and all, followed by the small bowl of sundried bay leaves, a twig with four to five large leaves on it.

About two pints of clear water, I tend to used filtered water as in my days we used mountain spring water from Monterpertuso which is still used to this day as was believed that it was a blessed water gifted to the local peoples by divinity herself Mary. A copious amount of white wine would ensue, in those days 100 bottles of wine would cost us a couple of tuna. It was drunk like water and I was introduced to its medicinal and curative properties at the young age of nine. In went the rind of the parmesan and a good stir at high heat to bring it to the boil before lowering it until it just bubbled away happily in the corner burner. There would be a periodic check every hour or so and as the sauce reduced the pilgrimage to the holy pot became more and more frequent to the point that another couple of pints of water were added and stirred in and the whole process repeated for a total sum of 4 hours or so or until the meat was so tender it melted away in your mouth. If you wish for your sauce to have an extra layer of sweetness, use thick brown, organic unrefined sugar. A large spoonful usually does the trick quite nicely. The caramel essence will blend in quite well with the roundness of the plums.

Make sure to grate an abundant quantity of parmesan cheese to add to the paste once you have cooked it “al dente” adding some of the water from the pasta that you will have captured when you sieved it into a bowl or such other device that will do the trick. The reason for this is that the sauce will have dehydrated somewhat and that this will have caused it to concentrate to a point in which you need to open it up and what better way than to do so with the water that you cooked the pasta in!!!!

Remember that this is a piece of history that I am passing on to you, so think dearly of those people who sat around that table each Sunday and communed together after a day out at sea or in the fields, with the flowing of wine and the laughter of only those who truly love one another can bring in to the world.

Enjoy this little piece of my childhood years and may it bring to you many a happy moment as you savor the delicious structure of the cheese, and plums, meat and wine.

By Peter Capraro