Last year for our big family meal on Christmas eve, we (approximately 25 of us) had a giant pot of Sugo, our family red sauce, with pasta, cheeseballs, meatballs, and the various cuts of meat that go into the Sugo. The year before there were three monstrous lasagnas and a baked ziti. Amo la mia famiglia.
In 1917, my great-grandmother (Nonna) boarded the Giuseppe Verdi with two of her children to join her husband in America. Generations later, I’m sure we couldn’t be two more different people. She barely made it to five feet tall, while I stand at six feet in heels. She had dark olive Mediterranean skin and a magnificent Roman nose, while I sunburn under anything over 60 watts, and sport a ridiculously snub little button on my face. I barely remember visiting her at the nursing home before she died at the age of 96. According to family lore, she used to hiss at my father that he was too tall to be family, and would steal Sweet’N’Low packets from the dining room and slip them to her nurses as tips. And, like me, she was stingy with her recipes – always leaving out a step or ingredient, then wondering innocently why yours didn’t turn out as good as hers. If you’ve ever tried to get my potato salad recipe, you know that I won’t just TELL you. You have to earn it. And then I still won’t tell you.
But I was given her name – which wasn’t easy to grow up with. And this is her Sugo, assuming she didn’t leave something out. You know, accidentally.
Traditional Sunday Gravy would include any/all of the following: Hot and sweet Italian sausage, meatballs, braciole, ribs, pork shoulder, and even more. Italian immigrants in the 1800’s and 1900’s found meat more available and affordable than back in the Old Country, and used it often and well. Sundays were for cooking, eating, and family. Someday I’m going to do the whole Sunday Gravy thing, then I will take a nap. But again there are only two of us in the house, and my husband – terribly, tragically – doesn’t much care for Sugo. I will only make a double batch, since it freezes like a dream and gets better with age.
Red sauce, while considered by some to be an American bastardization of Italian cooking, nonetheless can trace roots back to almost every country in Europe, and in Italy back to the 1600’s. The first published evidence of tomato sauce used on pasta appears in L’Apicio Moderno, by Franceso Leonardi from Rome in 1790. Can you imagine the thrill? This had to be more exciting than “Watson come here, I need you” or that whole “You got chocolate in my peanut butter” thing. To be first person to eat pasta with tomato sauce! That’s better than walking on the moon.
Yeah. Sorry. I can’t divulge.
First I brown the meat in a little olive oil. Brown brown brown. Yum.
Then I sauté the vegetables. Mom insists on whole garlic cloves, which she then removes, but I can’t resist smashing them with the flat of a knife a little. I’m a well known garlic-lover. When the vampires attack, I will be safe.
In Creole/Cajun cooking, they call onions, green peppers, and celery The Holy Trinity. This is ours. “So many smells.” My husband comments. I don’t even notice anymore. I once woke him from a sound sleep with the smell of sauteing onions and garlic. When he complained of the stench, I told him “You’re crazy. This is awesome.”
Now I add my variety of tomato products, herbs, and spices. I’m not telling. It’s quite simple, but this recipe isn’t mine to give away. Half goes into the crockpot and the other half into a pot on the stove, with the other meats. Set to simmer. Babysit for hours. That’s it. I’m sorry I can’t get more specific. The meat will fall off the bones. The house will smell like red heaven. As mom also put it, “I make it the same way every time, and it always turns out differently.”
I don’t know why we call it Sugo instead of gravy, which is far more common. (Sugo is derived from succo, which means juices, or meat drippings if you want to get technical.) I assume it’s being in the South, where different types of gravy are institutions, nay even religions – it’s always just been Sugo to us. To others it might simply be sauce, or red sauce, or salsa or salsina, or tomato sauce, or ragu (not the jarred stuff from the grocery, but from the French ragout.) But call it what you will – red heaven if you want. Serve with a hearty noodle – penne or rigatoni.
As an interesting piece of color to end this piece, after a whole day of browning, stirring, and tasting, my husband suggested an Italian restaurant for dinner last night.
illdothedisheslater 