Bolognese - A La Boheme
The year is 1961, the iconic Leontyne Price is singing selections form our favorite Italian classics at the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma. Her voice ringing though the hall as if she were casting a spell over the audience. Meanwhile, as evening falls in my East Williamsburg kitchen, I fix myself a Negroni—by now New York’s most exhausted cocktail—and allow myself to be transported through the magic of vinyl to the world of Puccini’s La Boheme. Surely this will set mood for the evening as I begin thumbing for inspiration through my collection of vintage cookbooks.
About half way through a second Negroni, I’m already nearly expired as my collection has grown quiet exponentially. Heeding advice I once learned that “a cookbook is worth buying even if it contains only one good recipe…” I’ve now made choosing a suitable dish no easy task.
But then, the moment I hear “Musetta’s Waltz” from La Boheme I’m struck with a very particular craving. At once, I hastily gulp down one final Negroni, and begin rushing about the city, frantically gathering ingredients to prepare Ragù ala Bolognese.
Have we not all thought, “what really is Bolognese? And how can I be sure if I’ve actually eaten the real thing?” I recently realized the answer to this question had evaded me for quite some time. You see, growing up an Italian-American with Southern Italian roots meant we were often served something confusingly called “Spaghetti Bolognese.” Whether at a tratoria, or at home, this all too common rendition I experienced throughout my childhood bares hardly a shred of resemblance to the Northern Italian classic. The real thing? Well, it’s far cry from the typical preparation of chopped-up, leftover hamburger patties thrown into some aging red sauce of questionable freshness. At this point, I’ve tasted almost every conceivable version of the dish, and the only common denominators seem to be braised meat, tomato, and cheese…
Now, what I grew up with, and what one is most likely to encounter at your average Italian eatery, is actually her long lost cousin from the south, Ragù alla Napoletana— an aromatic red sauce of slow braised meat. Sound familiar? Though both dishes contain braised meat, they are in fact, entirely different entities.
Unexpectedly perhaps, the first time I ever encountered anything even remotely close to the original recipe was in Germany. Even with the heavy handed use of butter and cream, and with the slightest suggestion of tomato, these Deutsche made a valiant attempt at maintaining the integrity of a truly international celebrity sauce.
As I pursued the essentials of the classic Italian recipe, I sought guidance from none other than Marcella Hazan’s The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking (1973). Her recipe for Ragù alla Bolognese is completely authentic and full of helpful tips and tricks. However, my favorite recipe, and my first experience of the dish in its true form, is that of Elizabeth David’s from Italian Food (1954). Though nearly identical to Marcella’s, it’s a bit simpler—the real bones of the dish. Better yet, for us city gals, this one takes less than half the time to prepare. So for us, I will go yet one step further by blending the two and simplifying the process. By adding just a few modern advances, even a gal on the go could whip up a decent batch of this extraordinary sauce in just under an hour!
***
To begin, mince 1 small rib of celery, 1 carrot, and 1 onion—I do this by pulsing them a few times in a food processor or blender. Set aside. Then, heat 1 tablespoon of butter into a heavy-bottomed, earthenware pot, and add 3 ounces of pancetta (both fat and lean) cut into small, bite sized pieces. Brown them very gently, then add the vegetables. Once wilted, add 1 pound of fatty ground beef, and immediately season with salt (this helps to extract the juices for the benefit of the sauce). Once evenly browned, add 4 tablespoons of tomato paste then, raising the heat, pour 3/4 cup of white wine. Season with a little more salt, pepper, and a good scraping of fresh nutmeg. Add 1 ½ cups of stock (or water if you must). Cover the pot and let simmer at a moderate pace for 30 to 40 minutes.
Once complete, taste for seasoning—I always add a tad more fresh nutmeg to brighten it up. Afterward, it is customary to add up to 1 cup of cream or whole milk to the sauce to make it smoother. I prefer a bit less at 1/2 cup.
Garnish with a little extra finishing butter, and lots of grated, fresh parmigiano.
Choice of pasta: Typically in Bologna, this sauce is served with tagliatelle. I ALWAYS use fresh pasta for this, because it is important that the pasta is soft enough to be thoroughly impregnated with the sauce. So don’t be alarmed if it seems like you have less sauce than you started with upon serving, it’s only that it’s been deliciously absorbed into the pasta.
This sauce can be successfully reheated with the addition of just a little milk or cream.
The recipe makes enough sauce for one pound of pasta.
At last I sit down to a bowl of proper Bolognese, I’m grateful to know the true nature of this dish. For it bares a special richness that can only be achieved by these Italian dishes where the hearty flavors of slow braised meat merge in perfect harmony with pasta. Perhaps, just like our favorite duets from la Boheme when love befalls the characters in a matter of moments, your love for this classic dish will be instantaneous. However, unlike Rudolfo and Mimi, your love for Bolognese is likely to last a lifetime.