Marco Canora's Beef Bolognese

I suppose it's true that every Italian has their version of ragu, a long-simmered meat sauce to be tossed with fresh pasta or layered in lasagna. And all of them (us) think their version is the best, the only one worth spending five hours in the kitchen for, the sauce to end all sauces. (Not all Italians actually make this sauce themselves; they wait until they're home for a visit and it gets made in their honor, further elevating ragu into the stratosphere of heaven-sent manna.) Some people have had their recipes passed down in the family, from great-grandmother to grandmother to mother and so on. But others, like me, got their recipe through other means, like abject begging.

You see, my mother and grandmother, well, they aren't/weren't big cooks. I don't have any recipes in my arsenal that came from my grandmother (unless you count a simple tomato sauce made with onions and carrots that is still the subject of ample controversy between my mother and father. My father insists that my grandmother taught him how to make it; my mother says he's crazy for thinking my grandmother could have ever taught anyone any recipe, ever.). And my mother is so uninterested in what happens in the kitchen that it's probably still a marvel to her that I have ostensibly made my career around the subject.

So when the time came for me to start making my own ragu (sometime in college, this was. Yes, I know, some people spend those years getting high and finding themselves; I started building my recipe arsenal.), I turned outside the family to our dear friend, Gabriella. Gabriella is from Bologna and is possibly, besides my Sicilian uncle, the best cook I know. (You should have yourself invited over to her place sometime when she's making an all-fish dinner. Or a Marchigianian meal. Or, frankly, even just stuffed tomatoes. Good lord.) One summer evening in Torre, I sat next to her and took notes as she carefully told me how to make her meat sauce. And then I went back to the States and proceeded to make it - over and over and over again - until I committed it to memory.

It's "my" sauce now and I love it. It reminds me of my family and Gabriella's and our summers together and my childhood. It makes Ben smile with his mouth full and my friends clamor for the recipe and generally, it's one of the things I know how to make that I'm proudest of.

But you know this post isn't about that sauce. This post is about someone else's sauce. I'll be honest, I'm not really in the market for a new meat sauce. I'm pretty happy with the one I've got. But then I went and read about Marco Canora (he of the addictive red cabbage) and his grandmother's sauce and the fact that it ends up the consistency of pudding (the mind boggles) and before I knew it, there was a little kernel of curiosity planted within me. Plus, I had explicit plans to do nothing but stay home and nest on Saturday. This would give me something to do.

And, boy, did it ever.

Getting the sauce to the point where you just let it simmer for three hours takes more than an hour. You slowly, carefully build layers of flavor - soffritto, minced garlic, diced pancetta, then beef. There's tomato paste and canned tomatoes, red wine and whole milk, even meat stock. It's quite impressive. The sauce gets thicker and richer with each stir. But what puzzled me was the complete lack of herbs: no parsley, no bay leaf. So I decided to add one bay leaf to the pot. After two hours, I felt guilty about it and took it out again. This was Marco's grandmother's sauce, after all, and I wasn't supposed to be messing with it.

The sauce does indeed become quite pudding-y. It practically quivers. It's very rich, and thick with meat. Someone remarked that it tasted like meat sauce made with pot roast and there is something to that. It's as if the sauce took apart the meat, altered the flavor molecules, and then stitched it back together again. It's darn good, I have to say, and makes an impressive amount, which is a relief because then at least you have some leftovers of your hard labor to put in the freezer.

But it almost doesn't matter than this sauce was as tasty as could be. I missed "my" sauce. I missed the minced parsley and the bay leaf. I didn't like the gaminess of the pancetta or the addition of minced garlic. Nothing against Marco or his grandmother, but I think these things end up being more than just a matter of taste, don't you think? They're about family and memory and love and tradition and other intangibles.

I know it's absolutely cruel to leave you hanging without a recipe for my meat sauce. I promise I'll write a post on it soon, maybe even combine it with a post about lasagna (in which I shall rail against the forces of evil who made millions of Americans think it's supposed to be made with part-skim ricotta or some such travesty). In the meantime, try Marco's sauce. And try Marcella's. Fiddle with them a bit until what you've got is your very own. Make that sauce so often that it becomes a tradition. Someone's favorite recipe. Something you pass on to your children or your children's children, or the daughter of a friend who always likes sitting near you when you cook, being watchful and quiet, absorbing every little thing you do.

You might realize, then, that food, in a way, immortalizes you.

Beef Bolognese
Serves 6 with leftover sauce

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 ½ cups finely chopped onions
¾ cup finely chopped celery
¾ cup finely chopped carrots
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 clove garlic, minced
1 pound ground beef
1/3 pound pancetta, finely chopped
1 1/3 cups tomato paste
1 ½ cups whole milk
2 cups red wine
2 2/3 cups whole canned tomatoes, drained of juices and torn
2 cups meat stock
Pappardelle, cooked al dente
Grated Parmesan

1. Combine the butter and olive oil in a large, heavy pot set over medium heat. When hot, add the onions, celery and carrots, season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring frequently, until the vegetables start to brighten in color, about 20 minutes.

2. Add the garlic, and just before it starts to brown, add the beef and pancetta. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat is thoroughly browned, about 25 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 5 minutes. Add the milk and cook at a lively simmer until the milk is absorbed, 5 to 10 minutes. Add the wine and simmer until the pan is almost dry.

3. Stir in the tomatoes and the stock, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook for 3 hours, stirring occasionally. Skim the fat off the surface. Toss with al dente pappardelle and serve with grated Parmesan.

Comments

[EB]

"They're about family and memory and love and tradition and other intangibles." Exactly. Perfectly said.

[deb]

I bookmarked this on Saturday morning because I don't have a perfect bolognese yet, and put it on a list next to Hazan's bolognese and then scratched my head, "which first? where to start?" And then Luisa swooped in to save the day, once again. Lovely post.

[Leah]

I have not one useful thing to say, except that I just loved this post. And also I miss my own kitchen. Hope my parents don't mind bolognese spatter while I'm working on my dissertation...

[Anne]

I was well into my twenties before I realized that not all sauces came from a jar. I was into my thirties when I learned real Italian lasagna isn't made with cottage cheese. So it's pretty obvious that I'm in dire need of some good bolognese recipes. Can't wait 'til you post about your favorite one. Keep 'em coming!

[Lydia (The Perfect Pantry)]

You are extremely open-minded to try another ragu recipe when you already have one you love! Me? Well, I've made essentially the same meat sauce since my own college days. I got the original recipe from the mother of an Italian friend, and it's stuck with me for many years.

[Molly]

So, so lovely.

[Sally]

I just want to add that another great Italian cook w/a formidable palate - Lidia Bastianich - often gets overlooked in these discussions. I'm a fan of Marcella, too, but I've been thrilled with many Lidia recipes, including her terrific Bolognese and lasagna (made w/fresh mozzarella and sieved whole-milk ricotta and that lovely Bolognese.)

[Callipygia]

De-lurking to say that I have never made a bolognese (gasp) and now I've got two to try. Although "pudding-like" and "gamey" makes me lean towards yours.

[Irene]

"my mother says he's crazy for thinking my grandmother could have ever taught anyone any recipe, ever"

That is exactly how my grandmother is! She is the best cook ever, but everytime we ask her to teach us, she just evades with the skill of a CIA operative.

I've never made a Bolognese sauce before because it's my husband's favorite and I'm afraid to mess it up!

[Jimmi]

Luisa,
What a wonderful post. Once again you remind us how food is
brought to a higher level by people, relationships and tradition.
How lovely.

[Sofia]

Hi! It's one of your dedicated lurkers peeking her head out once again... I just had to share-- though it was a gorgeously sunny Sunday here in California, I couldn't help but stay indoors all day to make this bolognese. Though your blog is my most trustee place to look for new recipes, I had happened upon that article in the times before seeing this post and started to involuntarily drool.... I was ALSO puzzled by the lack of herbs and stuck in a bay leaf, though I don't think it made much of a difference, the sauce is so rich. I see you cut the butter called for in half (I did too-- 6 tbsp scared me).
Now I'm hooked and will have to devote many more weekends to making ragu. I can't wait for your recipe!

[Tessa]

I loved this post. I totally agree that it is hard to give up a beloved bolognese recipe. Mine is very basic, even down to the inclusion of grated carrot, but I can't really imagine making it any other way, simply because that is the way my mother taught me. One day though I will actually branch out and try someone else's... if only to confirm that there is nothing as comforting as recipes from mum.

[Nick]

Beef Bolognese one of my favorites! I never thought to make it from scratch though, this recipe looks incredible. I would even throw it on a bun and have a nice Sloppy Bolognese to go! Thanks!

- The Peanut Butter Boy (http://peanutbutterboy.blogspot.com)

[Brian Silvey]

"I know it's absolutely cruel to leave you hanging without a recipe for my meat sauce. I promise I'll write a post on it soon, maybe even combine it with a post about lasagna (in which I shall rail against the forces of evil who made millions of Americans think it's supposed to be made with part-skim ricotta or some such travesty)."

Not just cruel. Pure Evil! Post soon. Also why isn't your blog searchable? Maybe I missed it, but I saw nowhere to enter a keyword "Lasagna" and search.

jb