Weeknight and Weekend Tomato Sauce

Weeknight Tomato Sauce

2 (16-oz.) cans crushed tomatoes—whatever you’ve got

2-12 cloves of garlic (When you’re adding garlic to something, you don’t follow a recipe—you follow your heart.)

3/4 stick of butter, salted or unsalted—just adjust your seasoning later

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil. I’ve never measured this amount. Just give it a good glug

1 medium onion, peeled and cut in half through the middle. Yes, you can leave that little stubby bit at the bottom.

In a large saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter with the olive oil. Smash the garlic cloves with the side of a knife or your favorite whacking stick, then throw them in the pot and cook until golden. Add the tomatoes and onion, give it a good stir, and reduce the heat to medium-low. Cook for half an hour, stirring occasionally. Give it a little taste, and add salt accordingly. Pull out the onion and whole garlic cloves, and put them aside on a small plate. The traditional Marcella recipe says to simply discard the onion, but I like bringing it (and the garlic) to the table to smear all over crusty bread.

Weekend Tomato Sauce

4 cans whole peeled tomatoes

At least 6 large cloves of garlic—more if you want; no one can stop you.

1 large or 2 small onions, very finely diced

1 small carrot, peeled and microplaned into the finest of fine shreds

A whole lot of olive oil—enough to coat the bottom of your pot

First, set a fine mesh strainer over a bowl. Put the tomatoes in the strainer, one at a time, and break them apart roughly with your hands. Remove the cores and as many seeds as you can, then dump whatever’s left into the bowl below. Once you’re done, rinse out each of the tomato cans with 1/2 cup of water, then add to the tomatoes. Hot tip: Keep one of the cans around to use as a spoon rest. You’re going to be doing a lot of stirring.

Get yourself a big sauce pot and cover the bottom with a thin coat of olive oil, then set it over medium heat. Add the onion, carrot, and a hefty pinch of salt. Cook until golden, about 5 minutes. If you like things with a bit of a kick, this would also be when you’d add a bit of crushed red pepper or Calabrian chili. It’s not essential, though, so don’t feel bad if you leave it out.

Mince your garlic as fine as you can—I find garlic presses worthless, but love a Microplane if you’re not yet great with a knife. Throw it in the pot and cook while stirring until it just begins to turn golden, then take the pan off the heat.

Put a heat diffuser on the burner, then put the pan back on. If you don’t have a heat diffuser, you should buy one. I’d even go as far as saying it’s the “secret ingredient” to most of the great sauces you’ve had in your life. The next few hours will be where the magic happens.

Add the tomatoes, turn the heat to high, and bring to a near boil, stirring every few minutes. Reduce the heat to medium low and simmer, gently stirring every 10 minutes, for at least an hour. Once that hour is up, then you can taste with the intent of making adjustments. If it’s a little acidic, add a pinch of baking soda or sugar, or a few pats of butter. If it’s bland, add salt. If you’re so inclined, add a bunch of fresh, torn up basil. And if it’s not as intense as you want it, just keep simmering and stirring.

Personally, I like my sauce cooked for a minimum of 90 minutes. When I make gravy—which is sauce with a bunch of different meats thrown in—I can let that pot go for two, three hours. What’s important here is that you stay on top of the sauce, tasting every so often, taking your own notes, and turning off the heat when you’ve reached your personal ideal. Then you can write it on the back of a piece of errant junk mail and pass it down for generations, just as every Italian grandma has done for centuries.