Ingredients
1 lb mix of ground beef and ground pork (or could do 1/3 beef, 1/3 pork, 1/3 veal) and small amount of chopped pancetta
1 onion, chopped fine
1 big carrot, chopped fine
1 celery stalk, chopped fine
2 tbs butter
Salt and pepper to taste
2 glasses red or white wine
Small amount of Passata (bottled cooked tomato without seeds or skin) or coulis de tomate or tomato paste
Aged parmesan
Polenta or egg tagliatelle or short dry pasta [like rigatoni or penne] cooked alla dente
Directions
Fry onion, carrot, and celery stalk in butter. When the onion is translucent, put in the meat and brown it over high heat. Add salt and pepper. Once the meat starts to stick to the bottom of the pot, after about 5 minutes, deglaze with one or two glasses of wine. Let the wine evaporate, lower the heat to minimum, cover with boiling water and let it cook (uncovered) until water evaporates (about 1 hour and half). Add some passata or tomato paste. Add a little water and let cook (uncovered) for about 1 hour. Add a little more water if too dry.
Implements
Big stew pot
Spoon to stir
Comments
I added a translation of Luca’s recipe below as I found it incredibly entertaining! I found a jar of Passata in my grocery store (good stuff!). Coulis de tomate is similar but quite a few variations (some with olive oil, onion, garlic, and basil). Might be easiest to use tomato paste. This recipe is to die for!
From Charlie: Luca is a philosopher colleague from Bologna and this was written in confinement in Parisbecause of coronavirus.
Corona Virus Confinement Extra....
So, recipe. Since everyone is asking, I'll get on with it, of course I won't have the poetry of Massimiliano Nicoli [note from Jessie: another philosopher], nor the technical perfection of Caterina Zanfi (and in fact I'd advise you to look at her blog, for the orthodoxy of Emilian cuisine,https://bolognacookingclass.com/emilian-cuisine). Me, I do as I was taught; I buy 1/3 beef (not minced steak, rather minced chuck, a little fat doesn't bother), 1/3 veal (if you can find it), 1/3 pig. I fry an onion, a big carrot and a celery stalk, finely chopped, in BUTTER (be careful with butter, no olive oil or whatever, olive oil is a Terrone thing [note from Jessie: derogatory Italian termfor people who dwell in Southern Italy]. Bolognese ragù is from the Center-North, you can eat it with polenta or egg tagliatelle or short dry pasta [like rigatoni or penne], not with orecchiette or spaghetti, you see the trick. When the onion is translucent, throw in all the meat and brown it over high heat. Add plenty of salt and pepper, but don't add any other spices (I've actually seen French people adding cumin or even coriander, thinking it's like a Mediterranean dish: Stronzi Bastardi Maledetti (God will punish you for that, rest assured). The meat starts to stick to the bottom after let's say 5 minutes, at this point you deglaze with one or two glasses of wine. There is a diatribe still alive that is at the origin of many schisms within the Emilian orthodoxy, between those who prefer white wine and those who bathe the meat with red wine. Personally, since I'm in favor of respecting the Order, I prefer a dry white, but you should know that if you have red, it's largely in play. On the other hand, I consider those who add milk as heretics who should be persecuted and possibly sacrificed. But I myself have been violently disputed by a Very High Priest of the Emilian Cuisine for having put dried porcini mushrooms in the ragù (the perception of what is schism, heterodoxy or deviation, is culturally and historically variable). You let the wine evaporate and there you are, time to chill: you lower the heat to minimum, cover with boiling water and let it cook. You can then dedicate yourself to several activities such as drinking the rest of the wine, reading aloud from your balcony John Calvin's sermons on Job to the joggers below ignoring the light of Grace, writing an article on Capitalism and Coronavirus, swapping jokes on WhatsApp, or doing yoga on Zoom. That's actually what I did yesterday. The important thing is to never leave your ragù alone. Go see him every 10-15 minutes and tell him that he is beautiful, that you love him, and that he will never stick. After 2 hours of slow cooking [Note from Jessie: I found 1 hour and half enough], he will have absorbed some water and the rest will evaporate. It's time to add the tomato. Be careful, not canned peeled tomatoes or worse, fresh ones. It is necessary to put rigorously ONE SMALL amount of tomato coulis (purists don't even put coulis, but definitely a little tomato concentrate). You shouldn't drown the meat in tomato sauce as if it were a vulgar Barilla sauce or a stupid chain of fake Italian restaurants like Corso that serves "spaghetti bolognese" (Figli di Puttana, God will punish you severely for that). The tomato is used to give a bit of red color to the meat which by the way should already be more or less brick colored [Note from Jessie: I used white wine, didn’t really turn a brick color]. Add a little more water and let it cook. You can continue to "trade" and peddle your vision of the world and salvation to the Sunday joggers below, while you open another bottle and read Carbon Democracy by Timothy Mitchell (very good book). You stir your ragù with lots of love. When will it be ready? Actually, it could be 3h30, 4 hours total not less [Note from Jessie: I cooked the meat for 1 and a half hours and then another hour after adding the tomato, so a total of 2 and a half hours, seemed like enough]. The ragù has to be observed and loved, it will tell you when it is ready giving you an infallible Sign (Grace): the fat of the butter and the meat starts to detach itself from the tomato making a slightly shiny stratum that floats on the meat, as if gifted with its own life. The meat itself has acquired a uniform texture made up of small pieces that are comparable in size. Your ragù is ready! Turn off the heat and let it rest. Like all sauce dishes, it will be even better the next day. Drain your pasta al dente, if necessary add a drizzle of oil at the outlet and place gently ON the pasta. Add plenty of grated Parmesan cheese at least 36 months old. Thank God for giving us the ragù, the pasta, and especially Karl Marx,. Bon Appetit!
(Translated from the French using DeepL translator)
