Seasoned to taste

Just about the exact time I turned 20, I decided that I was a grown up, and grown ups know how to cook. And one of the first dishes I learned to properly cook was a really classic spaghetti sauce. Spaghetti was pretty much my one favorite all time meal growing up, and it took me a while to perfect my own version of it. I think sauce is a great teaching tool for beginner cooks, because there are so many various ways to do it, and you can get away with a lot of things--but you can't get away without tasting it along the way. To learn how to cook is to learn how to taste, and spaghetti sauce is the perfect vehicle for learning that particular skill.

I made this one the other night when I was in particular need of some comfort food, and executing my favorite old standard recipe always turns out to be just as comforting as eating it. I've found that there's no real way for me to write down the recipe, so I'm just going to go through it as if you were keeping me company in the kitchen, which seems like more fun than a dry old recipe, and hopefully will be easy enough to follow:

First, I put on a large pot of water for the pasta, and I chop up the onions and garlic, (tearing and sniffing the whole way of course). I toss the onions into the dash of olive oil in the bottom of the sauce pan, waiting until the olive oil starts to shimmer from the heat, so when the onions hit the pan I get that nice satisfying hiss. (One of my favorite sounds of all time, bar none.) The garlic goes in a minute or two later so it doesn't burn, probably 5 or 6 cloves at least, and I sauté the whole thing until the onions go translucent. Canned, diced tomatoes go on top, thoroughly drained (who wants watery sauce?) And I let the whole mess stew for just a couple minutes so the tomatoes start to break down. That way you can use less of the unseasoned canned "sauce" to hold the whole thing together. I end up using a little less than half the can, and two of the small cans of tomato paste which make all the difference in keeping the consistency thick and bound together enough to stick to the spaghetti.

Toss in a bay leaf, just one (But do not eat.) And here comes the improvisational part: A handful of dried basil. Some thyme. Oregano (less is more, at least to start). Salt, of course, (and a pinch over the left shoulder) and cracked black pepper. And here's my secret weapon, the one that a lot of cooks leave out, and to the detriment of the whole meal as far as I'm concerned. A handful of sugar and more red wine than feels necessary or sane.

I let it go for a minute or two before I taste, to let all the flavors come together, and guess what? It sucks. But it's not enough to know it sucks, I've got to know why. I taste it again. It's bland, and I'm thinking it needs more basil. I add some more, and then thinking about it I go ahead and toss in more oregano and thyme as well. I always go a little bit at a time,because you can always add more later, but you can't get it back out. I taste it again. Does it need more salt? Probably, but I hold off because Mr. Gastro is cooking up Italian sausage on the next burner, and I'm going to be adding it to the sauce in just a moment, and that has plenty of salt all by itself. But I do go ahead and add more wine.

The sausage comes off the heat, and while Mr. Gastro is cutting the sausage into pieces before tossing them into the saucepan, I take the pan with all the the sausage renderings and the burnt bits and I put it back on the burner and turn the heat all the way up. I wait until it's just shy of burning, and then I pour in some red wine and deglaze the pan by scraping the bottom of the pan while the wine hisses and spits. I pour the whole thing, wine, fat and crispy burnt bits, into the sauce. Health food this is not, but it makes all the difference in the flavor. The sausage goes in too, and I'm thinking we're in the home stretch, so I drop the pasta in to boil. And taste again.

It turns out, the sauce does need just a tiny bit more salt, and a little more sugar too. At this point I've added seconds if not thirds of absolutely everything, but like I said, I'm going a little at a time, and the sauce is almost perfect now. It just needs one more thing. Am I crazy? Maybe, but here we go, yes... MORE WINE. Mr. Gastro notes at this point that I have included an entire glass of wine in the sauce, at least, but it's with this final addition that everything clicks into place, and the sauce, when you taste it, is perfect, exactly how it's supposed to taste, and lo and behold, the pasta is done, the bread is warm, and the table is set. It's like everything, the salt, the spaghetti, the wine, wine, and more wine, it was all waiting to come together until this very moment, when it was always going to come together. It's like you've been working backwards, this entire time, tasting and seasoning, just to end up here, with this perfectly seasoned sauce, a fork in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other.