BOLOGNESE SAUCE

A DIET TACTIC MY WIFE, MAUREEN, USES TO SOME SUCCESS is to never clean her plate. She takes whatever she wants, but makes sure to leave at least a third of it behind uneaten—portion control for the strong willed. Such a tactic is nearly impossible for me. I was raised to be a life-long member of the clean plate club.

Each of us Cummings kids learned the club’s lessons under the steady stare of my father, Jack, while seated in the dreaded chair immediately to his left at the dinner table. We all took turns there--at least the boys did. The girls—Diane and Kathy—coming as they did later in life weren’t subjected to quite the discipline rigor as their older brothers. In fact, as my parents mellowed, they were able to forge new ground in permissiveness. But in the earlier, sterner years, until we learned the rules of the clean plate club, we occupied the dreaded chair. Jack and I took our turns, neither of which seemed overly long or difficult.

But Denny—brother number three—took up residence there. Denny would eat anything that was covered in a red sauce, but nothing that wasn’t. We tried to coach him on the rules. Put the food you don’t like under the edge of your plate. Us kids cleared off the table and we wouldn’t tell. Or you could mix the peas in the mashed potatoes and swallow them without chewing. And there was always the dog. He’d eat anything except broccoli.

But Denny would have none of it.

Defiance was his middle name. Normally, my father’s glare and direct order could make him cave-in and finish whatever it was that he swore was going to make him die. But one evening, as we neared the end of what the rest of us thought was a pretty good dinner, Denny dug in. Even my father’s ultimate threat—often used but never previously carried out—didn’t budge him.

“Eat it or wear it” was usually enough to get anyone gobbling, but that night there was defiance in the air. A few second later, there was also mashed potatoes, gravy, peas and bits of fried chicken in the air, in Denny’s hair and slowly rolling down his cheeks. The story of the night Denny chose to “wear it” lives forever in family lore.

As I recall, the lesson must have took, or Dad just plain surrendered, since Jeff—brother number four—moved to Dad’s left hand shortly thereafter to begin his lessons in how cleaning his plate would help abate hunger, particularly in China.

I carried over my parent’s clean plate rules to Kimberly, our first born, but quickly mellowed and fell in line with more modern theories of child rearing with Carey and Brian. While they were encouraged to try everything on their plates, they weren’t forced to finish the portions.

You only need to look at the plates after a family dinner to see that while Kim and I still act on our concerns for the starving kids in China, the others do not.

I haven’t checked Denny’s plate for the last few years to see whether those early lessons stuck with him as they did with me, but he tells me he still likes anything with red sauce. I think he’d like this as well.

Growing up, we called this dish “bisketti” a tongue twisted play on spaghetti, and a term that defined both the pasta and the sauce together. Being Irish, we were blissfully unaware of our shallow understanding of the variety of Italian pasta and sauces.

But spaghetti covered with my mother’s version of Bolognese sauce was the dish that introduced me—and together with Chef Boyardee, many other of my generation—to Italian food. This recipe is not quite the same as what I had growing up, but the concept is—meat, tomatoes and spices slow cooked to perfection.

A word about pasta: although there are many varieties of fine pasta on the market today—both fresh and dried, you owe it to yourself to make your own. The recipes are simple and available in any cookbook. You’ll need to invest in a pasta machine if you want to make linguini, fettuccine and the like, but the flavor of pasta made in your kitchen minutes before you cook it is incomparable.

Mangia!

Bolognese Sauce: The Recipe

Makes two quarts, enough for 6-8 servings or more.

Ingredients

6 cups chopped tomatoes. About 10 peeled, seeded and coarsely chopped or two large (28 ounce) cans whole or diced

1 cup onion, finely diced

¾ cup carrots

¾ cup bell peppers

2 stalks of celery

¼ cup olive oil

2 tablespoons butter

¼ pound proscuitto, chopped

3 cloves garlic, finely diced or pressed

1½ pounds ground beef

1 cup red wine

½ cup fresh Italian parsley

½ cup fresh basil

½ cup fresh oregano

2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground pepper

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

¼ cup heavy cream

First: This starts out just like the recipe for the pizza sauce. If using fresh tomatoes, make a concassée. Peel the tomatoes by plunging them into boiling water for about 10-15 seconds, and then run them under cold water. The skins should come off easily. Cut in quarters and gently squeeze and scrape the seed out. Work over a colander set in a bowl to catch the juices. Discard the seeds and wash out the colander. Chop the tomatoes coarsely and put them in the colander set over a bowl to catch any remaining juice. Reserve the juice separately. If using canned tomatoes, pour out the liquid and save. Remove the seeds from the tomatoes, chop and drain.

Second: Heat the olive oil and butter in a pan large enough to hold all the ingredients and gently sweat the chopped carrots, peppers, celery and onion for 15 minutes.

Third: Add the beef, proscuitto and stir, browning the meat. Continue cooking until the moisture from the meat is evaporated, about 15 minutes.

Fourth: Add the garlic, coarsely choppedparsley, oregano, salt, pepper, wine and the liquid from the tomatoes and simmer slowly for about 30 minutes.

Fifth: Add the chopped tomatoes, return to the simmer and cook for about an hour and a half. Taste the sauce. Adjust the seasonings. Use the sugar and vinegar in small amounts to bring out more flavor if needed.

Sixth: Add the heavy cream and cook for two minutes more.

And finally: Serve over pasta, preferably homemade.