Spicy Oil Tomato Sauce. To Bring the Heat.

I apologize for the delay.  Since we last spoke Boston has suffered three more snowstorms and Valentine’s Day.  We also have some prior business to attend to. I am lucky to say my pathology reports came back: I do not have cancer.  So while winter remains in a perpetual standstill, I no longer need to be. 

I originally thought I might discuss some things I learned during this ambiguity, but the vibe around Boston has not exactly been uplifting.  And mentally I cannot drag anything weighty through the snowdrifts.  

So I am going to discuss tomato sauce. 

My boyfriend, Brett, and I were snowed in—yet again—two weeks ago.  Since he is a good human who loves to cook meaty, spicy stews we did the most romantic thing imaginable. 

We went to a beer tasting for Valentine’s Day.  Bought a few growlettes, including one named Your Possible Pasts. Decided to spend the next 48-hours in my one-bedroom North End apartment.  Cooked and consumed a pound and a half of meat. And did not kill each other.

Instead, we made a velvety stew of spicy peppers and pork shoulder.  Which was delicious. But I am not here to talk about melty pig today.  If you live anywhere other than Southern California, you might be up for something a little less taxing at the moment. And since we are supposed to get more snow on Sunday, might as well keep things simple and have hot pasta for dinner. 

I promised I would not reveal the origins of this recipe.  Suffice to say it came from a friend of a friend of a friend who has a very successful restaurant. I’ve doubled the tomatoes and halved the garlic and oil, among a few other tweaks. So it is likely this person who shall remain nameless would no longer even recognize it. No matter, a promise is a promise.

It has become my go-to sauce recipe.  It doesn’t require hours of prep, nor does it disappoint.  Ever. It’s one of those priceless things you happen upon, that you don’t know how you ever lived without.

Kind of like finding someone who can tolerate you for 48-hours in a snowstorm.

Spicy Oil Tomato Sauce

Ingredients:

2-28 ounce cans of whole peeled plum tomatoes

¼ cup canola oil

3 to 4 small dried chiles (preferably chile de Arbol or Thai chile), minced

2 small dried chiles, whole

3 to 4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

4 tbsp olive oil, divided

1 scant tbsp honey

kosher salt, to taste

Instrucitions:

In a food processor, puree the plum tomatoes until smooth.  Heat a large saucepot on medium; add the canola oil and minced chilies. Cook until the peppers start to smell fragrant, about 2 minutes.  Add the garlic and sauté another minute, taking care not to let the slices burn.

Add the pureed tomatoes and remaining whole chiles; stir in 2 tablespoons olive oil and the honey.  Add a few pinches of salt.  Cook on medium heat until the sauce comes together and thickens slightly, about 20 to 30 minutes; turn the heat down if it starts to wildly splatter.  Stir in another 2 tablespoons of olive oil.  Taste and add additional salt, as needed.

Makes about two quarts

Notes:

-This is a spicy sauce. Reduce the amount of chiles if you are sensitive to heat.

-I prefer Muir Glen tomatoes and choose to puree them because I feel it makes a better sauce.

Herbed Caramelized Onion and Mushroom Campanelle, Coming Home

You might say I’ve been a bad Italian.  Though my last name hovers in ethnic ambiguity, my roots are green, white, and red.  Fresh off the boat, our original surname, Gelsomino, had its “o” cavalierly sliced off, like you would the butt end of a sopressata.  

Growing up, my grandmother would buy boxes of tomatoes, which we’d can in her house.  In August.  As it approached 100 degrees.  Windows closed.  Blinds down.  Rickety old floor fan circulating the thick tomato soup air.  Hand cranked pasta was made in the kitchen and dried on white cotton sheets draped on couches in the living room. 

We ate a lot of pasta.  So much so that we developed our own Gelsomin—no “o”—macaroni dialect. 

Pa•sta fa•zool (pästä fäzōōl), n.: linguine dressed with tomatoes and white beans.  Used as a quick, complaint-free weeknight dinner made from the contents of a common Italian-American pantry and, more broadly, used in conjunction with drool-worthy stars as a metaphor for love. A species separate from the soupy version often served with cuff-shaped ditali. Variant (Ital.): pasta e fagioli

A•ya•woo•yas (Äôwōōyëz), n., pl.: spaghetti tossed in olive oil with whole garlic cloves plus the motherly addition of broccoli (see also, how to get your kids to eat vegetables); etymology unknown.  Variant (Ital.): aglio e olio

Co•va•dills (kävädëlz), n. pl.: shell-shaped macaroni with ridges and a nook for red sauce; typically served for Sunday dinner at grandma’s paired with braciole and escarole salad, from the garden.  Variant (Ital.): cavatelli

Despite all this, sometime in my mid twenties I stopped eating pasta regularly.  And that was that.  Until I decided that was enough nonsense.

Last week I—very happily—cooked macaroni (campanelle) resembling fluted trumpets.  First, I sautéed some mushrooms in butter and olive oil (plus garlic, always garlic).  And roasted onions and shallots, wedged with thyme, until their skins gave in and sweetened.  Everyone met in a sauté pan, joined with a heavy dusting of pecorino and a glass of Schiava Nera to sip, a light ruby wine that hovers pleasantly between a rose and pinot noir.

This is an entirely new place for me.  A place that pairs meaty mushrooms slicked in butter with sweetened slumping onions cloaked in balsamic and cream.  There’s no pasta drying on a couch per se, but, occasionally, there’s some strands draped over a broom handle or two. 

It’s different from the pasta I grew up with, but I’ve come home again.

Herbed Caramelized Onion and Mushroom Campanelle

Ingredients:

2 small onions

2 large shallots

~3-4 tbsp olive oil, divided

kosher salt, to taste

a few grinds of black pepper

2-4 tbsp balsamic vinegar

~½ tbsp sugar

6 thyme sprigs

2-4 tbsp butter

2 garlic cloves, minced

6 ounces cremini mushrooms, sliced

4 ounces shiitake mushrooms, sliced

5 sage leaves

~9 ounces campanelle or dry pasta of your choice

3-4 tbsp heavy cream

pecorino, grated or shredded to taste

Instructions:

Set the oven to 425 degrees.  Peel and chop each onion and shallot into four or five wedges and place in a baking dish; toss with enough olive oil to coat the wedges (1-2 tbsp), season with salt and pepper, and add a tbsp or two of balsamic vinegar and a dusting of sugar.  Wedge in thyme sprigs.  Roast in the oven until the onions get soft and caramelized; start checking after 30 minutes (mine took 45).

Once the onions have started to soften and gather color, fill a medium saucepan with water for the pasta.  Season the water with salt and heat on high. 

Heat a large sauté pan and toss in two tbsp of butter and a glug of olive oil.  Add in the garlic and cook about a minute, being careful not to burn it; add in the mushrooms, season with salt, and stir to help distribute the oil.  Let the mushrooms be for a few minutes so they can start to caramelize; if the mushrooms look dry, add another tbsp or two of butter; add in the sage leaves and stir gently.  When the mushrooms are tender and caramelized, remove the pan from the heat.

When the water boils, add in the pasta and cook until al dente (you want it a tad toothsome, as it will cook another minute or two in the sauté pan).

When the onions are fully softened and have browned, add in another splash of vinegar and enough cream to make a little sauce in the pan; return to the oven to cook another few minutes. 

When the pasta has cooked, drain it (reserving about ¼ cup of the pasta water), and then add the pasta to the pan with the mushrooms. Remove the onions from the oven and add them to the pan as well (you may want to remove the thyme sprigs first).  Add in the pasta water and toss to combine.  Season to taste, though keep in mind the pecorino will also add saltiness.  Dust with pecorino, to taste.

Makes about 6 cups of pasta and sauce

Notes:

-The pecorino really brings the dish together.  Parmesan would also work well.

-You don’t have to be a slave to the amounts listed.