Carbo-Loading: Tagliatelle alla Bolognese "Old School"

Apologies, but the PK staff has been out of commission these last few days; a weak and unadvised deviation from the accepted rules of a young blog (which is to say, don't let the fields fallow), but  my wife, our new young Italian friend V., and I were entered in a triathlon relay race over the weekend. Between the pre-race prep, the race itself, and the shattering after-effects, all I can really say is, I dropped the proverbial ball. I did not, however, stop cooking.

That being the operative point - cooking - because, politics aside, this is a cooking blog, and what better excuse to cook than a pre-race meal? Case in point, a long-distance event (on the order of 10 hours as a team), from an exercise-physiology (and therefore culinary) point of view, means lots - lots - of carbs. Indeed, speaking purely from a personal perspective, one of the essential motivating factors in training for an endurance event is that you get to eat enormous quantities of food, and carbs in particular. And here in the Proximal Kitchen, carbs means pasta, and copious quantities thereof. Preferably served with bread. And, in a perfect world, washed down with a local wine (which, technically, is of course a carbohydrate - although the risk of poor performance and/or puking argue for not doing so on the night before an event). So, setting aside the pre-race alcohol constraint, I started rummaging around the fridge to see what was to hand.

I had a couple of boxes of tagliatelle that I really like, it's an organic, dried version of fresh egg pasta from an Italian maker called Buonaturae (relatively easy to find at natural food stores), so that seemed like a good start. Yes, I am well aware that dried tagliatelle is likely an Italian culinary heresy of some significance, but my view is this: Better to use a high-quality, properly-cooked dry pasta than a poor-quality fresh one, even for dishes calling for fresh pasta. The particulars of  making pasta by hand is fodder for another post, but for the purposes of this particular meal, suffice it to say that I find making good pasta at home a fairly difficult task, and the home cook must always be honest in assessing his or her strengths and weaknesses. Learn new things, but always play to your strengths - it's your kitchen, so cook what you like, in your style, and you will invariably end up more successful in both the process and the product.

The essential components of ragu

Next up, the sauce: I already had fresh garlic from my recent experiment with  pistou, some really nice onions from Bernier farms and, although I always try to keep canned tomatoes in the cupboard for just such an eventuality; I also found some leftover basic tomato sauce that I figured should be used, so I grabbed that as well. Finally, I pulled open the bottom-most drawer in our freezer, which is where I store all the bits of left over meat from other meals: A pack of Saveur chicken-pistachio sausages (sounded great, but not over pasta); an odd-looking piece of a lamb's shoulder that wouldn't fit in the braising pot the last time I use it; a pack of Hebrew National hot dogs (which, bizarre as it may sound, I have used to good effect as an endurance fuel, but again, hard to see it over pasta); and - last but certainly not least - a few packs of ground-to-order, grass-fed ground beef from my favorite local butcher, the Willowside Meats and Sausage Factory. I had ordered the ground beef for burgers (the background slider-shot from my recent french-fry post, and the subject of another forthcoming post), but I have found that the same 50/50 blend of brisket and chuck I often use for burgers makes an excellent ragu, and a plan began to coalesce: Tagliatelle alla Bolognese, the classic dish of pasta with a ragu of meat and vegetables from Bologna. All I'd need was a carrot for the sauce and some crusty bread to round out the plate. (All my favorite veggie stalls at the farmer's market, folks like Bernier Farms, the Ortiz Brothers, Foggy River, and Love Farms, have been overflowing with beautiful carrots, so things were looking up.)

You will find as many variations on the classic Italian ragu as you care to look for, but the essential ingredients, and the cooking process, are relatively consistent. It's also been a staple in our kitchen for a while, so I've been doing background research, both theoretical (cook books) and applied (prepared and eaten), for a while now. Personally, for a basic set of unimpeachable guidelines, I don't think you can do better than Marcella Hazan's version of the Bolognese classic (if you're going to own just one Italian cookbook, hers is an obvious choice; I could spend a long, happy life cooking and eating out of that one book). Note, however, that I've not mentioned pork, which is called for in the recipe-link previous; in the book itself, the basic version uses only beef, and pork is mentioned as a variation. This, too, got me curious, and so I did a little more digging.

It turns out that Bologna - much, I suppose, like the regulation of true pizza in Napoli, although I'm really no expert - has clearly defined rules for what constitutes a true Bolognese-style ragu, as codified by the Accademia Italiana della Cucina, and they include pancetta, which one presumably renders and then uses the fat of for the cooking of the vegetables. However, there are many variations on the basic formula, even from within Bologna, with and without pork, often including chicken livers (something I've not tried but just has to be good), and sometimes even mushrooms (which I think would taste great, but does not jibe with my reading of what constitutes a true ragu). While the intricacies of the proper pairing of pasta shape and texture to sauce are worthy of a dissertation-like effort, one thing on which it is universally agreed is that tagliatelle is unimpeachable. The economies of scale in home ragu production, and the ease with which it can be stored, dictate making enough for leftovers, and I would not hesitate to dress a stuffed pasta like cheese tortellini, but - for me - the ultimate application is actually in lasagna. That, however, involves an even more serious investment in time, one in which home-made pasta is essential, and therefore a project that I was not about to entertain for our pre-race feast. Larousse describes dressing a timbale of macaroni and sauteed mushrooms with ragu, something I've never had, but definitely plan to try - it ought to look impressive on the plate, and should please kids and company alike.

Considering the broad popularity of "Spaghetti Bolognese" in both the US and the UK, it remains a somewhat fascinating factoid that, much like polpettone (or "meatballs"), Italians would never serve a ragu over spaghetti. For what it's worth, this is a heresy that we at the Proximal Kitchen have practiced happily for years, to great effect, particularly for the kids - but still, truth be told, tagliatelle is far superior, as the flat shape of the noodle and the fresh-pasta consistency hold the sauce in a far more pleasing manner than will dried spaghetti.

Although hardly the definitive text on Italian cooking, I thought it would be interesting to see what our good friend Larousse had to say on the topic: The basic description is of "a thick sauce based on beef and vegetables, particularly tomato", so pretty much what I'd have expected at this point, although they also include chicken livers, and omit milk, which I take to be essential (and the Accademia is with me on this). The most entertaining, if not particularly informative, except from Gastronomique is that the sauce known as ragu is "a corruption of the French word ragout". I suspect a cultural anthropologist could make significant hay of that one statement in the broader historical context of continental European history.

Before we get to the recipe, I have to mention a quick lesson in the practical realities of multi-cultural cooking that I was lucky enough to receive, gratis, from my new friend and comrade with whom I shared this pre-race meal, the aforementioned Signore V. V. is from Rome and, being from Rome - arguably the spiritual capital of pasta - had an interesting opinion on the topic of what constitutes ragu. Firstly, upon my introduction of the dish as alla Bolognese, I was mildly embarrassed to learn that V. had no idea what I was talking about: Apparently, the definition of classic ragu as specifically Bolognese is, to a Roman, rather overly provincial. For V., ragu is ragu, and that is really the end of the story. Since I always think of the generic term 'ragu' as referring to almost any thick, stewed sauce of meat and vegetables, I asked about using other meats, as I've had all sorts of terrific ragu of rabbit, boar, oxtail, and of course with and without pork added to the classic beef version. On this, my Italian friend was clear: ragu is made from beef. Don't think too hard about it.

Tagliatelle alla Bolognese "Old School"

1. Prepare about two cups of small-dice soffritto for the base. Soffritto is just the Italian name for the classic French stock base, mirepoix. Or, just grab one large carrot, one large rib of celery, and a small onion (or double and halve accordingly, depending on the size of your veggies). Sweat the veggies over medium-low heat in a little olive oil (and/or butter) until soft, using a large, heavy pot (the classic Italian version calls for earthenware, but cast iron or - as I have done here - a heavy copper sauce pan works just fine).
2. Break up about a pound of ground beef, with a strong preference for a cut that is flavorful, not too lean (I would say minimum 20% fat), and of course from grass-fed, pasture-raised cattle. Turn the heat up to medium, add the meat to the veggies, and continue to stir and break up with a fork to ensure even cooking. There is no need to brown the meat, simply cook until it loses its raw color throughout.
3. Pour a cup of milk, along with some freshly grated nutmeg (not much - maybe an 1/8th of a teaspoon), to the meat and vegetables and allow the milk to cook off completely. This is important, as the fat from the milk will help protect the meat from all the acid to come.
4. Pour a cup of dry white wine over the meat  and allow that to boil almost completely away. (Always take care to stir in order to avoid any burning on the bottom, and to scrape the flavors concentrating on the walls of the pot back into the nascent sauce.)
5. Add a large can (28 to 32oz, typically) of crushed or pureed canned tomatoes to the pot. You can also use leftover basic tomato sauce, provided it is of very good quality and is very simple. And please, if you're going to all this trouble, don't use pre-made sauces that have more than a few ingredients. The other important thing here is the type of canned tomato: Cooking locally be damned, and you won't find them organic (if you do, please let me know), but you should only ever buy San Marzano tomatoes imported from Italy for use in tomato sauces. I'm sorry to be strict here, but this is really critical. And don't get suckered by "imported plum tomatoes" - if it doesn't say "San Marzano", don't buy it. It is the only tomato in the world that is acceptable for the multitude of sauces that depend on canned tomatoes. (With the notable exception of a classic pomodoro made from local heirlooms at the peak of ripeness, canned San Marzano tomatoes are almost invariably cheaper, far less work, and actually taste better, than fresh tomatoes. Trust me, or do the taste test, it really is true.)
6. Once the tomatoes have come to temperature, reduce to a low simmer, stirring occasionally. Allow to cook for at least 3 hours - 4 or 5 would be better, but really, I've found 3 to be plenty. You can actually leave it to its own devices, for the most part; just add a little water (or beef stock) whenever all the moisture evaporates. The sauce will be very thick when finished, will have almost no liquid, and the fat will separate (see picture above). Once fully reduced, season with salt and fresh black pepper. Sauce may be cooled and stored and even frozen with little deleterious effect.
7. Serve over tagliatelle, accompanied by freshly grated Parmigiano (Romano is less classic but also excellent), and garnished with chopped flat-leaf parsley. A hunk of crusty garlic bruschetta would be welcome.

Tagliatelle alla Bolognese with Sourdough Garlic Bruschetta and a glass of RRV Pinot