sunday sauce
My grandmother was not a nonna. She was an Italian-American from Bari in the south of Italy, thin-framed and reserved, and despite being VERY Catholic had only two children, who she loved more than anything. I will never know my grandmother as a young enough woman to know whether she had the caretaker trait that my mom has or if she acquired it over time, or if she always made sauce this way, or if she learned it from her mother as my mother did from her. I do know that my grandmother was a perfectionistic and precise person, anxious to avoid things that could go wrong, except when it comes to sauce: deciding if something was right only by smell and color, not measurements. Nonna or not, she had Italian intuition.
She was a great mom to a great mom. When she died in 2005, my mom was empty for a long time. There is no one, she said, who will love you like your mom does, no matter who attempts to fill the vacancy. I never forgot this.
My mom is a lot like her mom. I am, unfortunately, not very much like my mom. But sauce is the shared slice of our venn diagram, and our way of honoring family traditions less obvious. We put on our all-black “sauce clothes,” as her mom did, to avoid the permanent stains of splattering greased tomato. We only use strong, sheepy pecorino cheese, never parmiggiano. We complain about how much work it is to make, and to clean, for most of the cook time. To her mom’s sauce, my mom has contributed new techniques: specifically, using a HUGE dutch oven instead of her mom’s cheap 12 quart aluminum stock pot, and removing the neckbones from the finished dish. To my mom’s sauce, I contributed my love of ingredients: butcher sausages from Whole Foods, pure tomato puree from Italy, pork spare ribs when we couldn’t find the pork neck she was raised on.
When we make sauce together, we keep her mom alive. And it helps us feel alive. But then it rings in my head: “No one will love you like your mom.” And I know that’s why we really make the sauce. Sauce is the written encoding not just of our family memories, but specifically of hers and mine. It is the continuation of our spiritual bloodline. One day, this will be all I have. Until then, I can only choose to appreciate what I’ve got.
Nothing like a bummer perspective to get you in the mood for some Sunday Sauce!!!!
Sunday Sauce is anywhere from a 4-8 hour project depending on the family, stacked on the front end with labor. It’s something you do in one huge batch, whine about for a day, and then freeze for the months ahead so you don’t have to do it again. She goes through the effort selectively; most recently, she made it for my boyfriend to show him he was welcome in the family. It’s a symbol. It’s enough work that you only make it for people you love. That’s kind of the point.
That point is why my mom forbade me from sharing her exact recipe, because y’all are strangers and this recipe is sacred to her. Because of that, I’ll share with you my own instead, that I make at home when I’m not with my her. It doesn’t have her secret ingredients, or her meatball mastery, or her talent for smelling the herb mixture to decide if there’s enough garlic (truthfully, I don’t measure either, but most people I imagine would prefer to), but it has the same soul of three generations of Italian women with a lot of opinions and a lot of heart, and all of the Italian intuition that goes with it.
I believe you don’t need to be Italian to make Sunday sauce. You just need to feel it.
I hope my mom can forgive me for sharing.
RECIPE
My mom’s traditional Sunday red sauce (also known as “Sunday gravy”) made the old-fashioned way: slow-braising bone-in pork for hours in tomato puree along with homemade meatballs and pan-seared Italian sausages. Perfect for spaghetti; equally at home on any other pasta shape.
Effortful time: 30 minutes
Total time: 5 hours
Serves: 8, and freezes incredibly well
YOU NEED
For the meatballs:
1 lb. ground beef, 80% fat
1 lb. ground pork
4 eggs
2/3 cup pecorino cheese
2/3 cup whole milk ricotta; I prefer Bellwether Farms (bonus points if you get the sheep kind!)
1/2 cup italian breadcrumbs (can sub panko)
1 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. garlic powder
2 tbsp. parsley
2 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. olive oil, for frying
For the sauce assembly:
8 sweet Italian pork sausages
3/4 lb. pork spare ribs
2 tbsp. olive oil
6 oz. can tomato paste
2 26 oz containers high-quality tomato puree or strained tomatoes, I prefer Pomi brand (crushed isn’t quite the same!)
1/2 cup dry red wine, optional
26 oz. water
4 tbsp. basil
3 tbsp. parsley
2 tbsp. oregano
2 tsp. garlic powder
2 tsp. onion powder
2 tsp. salt
MAKE IT
Sauce, part 1
Sear the pork ribs. Dry off the pork ribs as best you can. In your largest dutch oven or stock pot (at least 5 quarts), heat the olive oil over medium-high. When shimmering, add the ribs and then leave them alone to brown deeply, about 3 minutes per side, in batches if you need to.
Build your sauce base. Deglaze the pan with red wine, scraping up the bits. Turn the heat to low. Add the tomato puree, tomato paste, herbs, garlic and onion powder, salt, and water. Crack black pepper over the top. Stir well to combine.
Simmer the sauce. Nestle your pork ribs into the sauce, their new home for the afternoon. Crack the lid and simmer every half hour for a total of 2 hours, being careful not to splatter yourself when you open the pot. Remember: wear a sauce outfit!
In the meantime: make meatballs and sausage.
Mix the balls. Combine all ingredients on the meatball list in a large bowl until thoroughly mixed. Add panko if the mixture feels too wet; add more ricotta if it feels too dry.
Roll the balls. Keep a loose hand; aim for golf ball size balls and lay on parchment paper. You want them round, but not overly rolled to the point of being smooth or shiny.
Fry the meatballs. Heat olive oil in a large skillet oven over medium heat. Add the meatballs, browning in batches, turning over every 2 minutes, for a total of 8 minutes per batch. Remove to a plate. Snack on a few. You won’t be sorry.
Sear the sausages. Pierce your sausages with 1/2” cuts so they don’t blow up when you cook them. In the same skillet, still on medium heat, fry them, 2-3 minutes on each side.
Chill. Leave everything on a plate when finished, covered in foil.
Final assembly
Reclaim the bones. After 2 hours, fish out the pork bones. You can shred the meat and add back to the sauce if it’s tender and the bones are meaty.
Assemble the final sauce. Add the meatballs and sausage to the sauce. Simmer another 2 hours, adding water if it gets too thick, until the sauce is deep brownish-orange and the meats are soft and braised.
Finish with pasta. Serve tossed with the pasta of your choice and, as is tradition, grated pecorino cheese.
That’s it. You’re as Italian as you’re gonna get.
advanced splatter prevention system