Friday, June 19, 2015

Not your grandpa's red sauce


It was a sucker bet that I couldn't expect to win. My friend Peter had given me a taste of a tomato sauce that his grandfather used to be "famous for." The two main ingredients in the sauce, my friend had informed me, are chicken thighs and mint, neither one a staple in your average red sauce. Peter had boasted about his grandfather's creation on several occasions, speaking of how he both craves and prepares it many times a year for himself and his wife Claudia.

"Let me know what you think, Meathead," he said as I backed away from his driveway, a covered plastic container filled with leftover penne alla grandpa occupying the seat next to me. "If you like it maybe I'll even let you have the recipe."

Peter and I have what you might call an adolescent relationship. He did, after all, deliberately bury a rather large chicken bone inside the container of (overcooked) pasta, presumably so that I might choke on it. And so it was no surprise to either of us when I scoffed at his offer.

"Recipe? I don't need no stinkin' recipe," I grunted. "I'll know how to make your precious little sauce just by tasting it. A hundred bucks says mine'll be even better."

My friend, as they say, is careful with his money. At Peter's insistence the stakes were dropped to a tenth of what I had proposed. Claudia would judge my sauce against her husband's. Not the firmest ground that I have ever stood on when making a wager, but it was the only ground that I could manage.

Below is the version of the sauce that I prepared. It might not be Peter's grandfather's sauce but it is well worth preparing.

As for the wager, it was decided that the transfer of capital was to go not from my friend's pocket to mine but from mine to his. This decision was handed down—without explanation or debate, mind you—by the mother of Peter's children and, presumably, co-owner of however many dollars he has amassed.

Like I said, a sucker bet.


Start with a generous amount of olive oil in your favorite saucepot and add a chopped onion, two chopped celery stalks, four or five garlic cloves and a good dose of hot pepper.


Don't tell Peter but I also tossed in a few anchovy fillets. (He didn't even notice but now that he knows I guarantee that I will never stop hearing about it.)


Once the onion and celery have softened add four large bone-in chicken thighs and simmer. (Both my friend and I are adamant about bone-in meats having greater flavor, but go ahead and use boneless if you insist.)


After two or three minutes turn the thighs over.


After another couple minutes add two 28-ounce cans of tomatoes, a big handful of fresh mint leaves (at least twice as many as shown here), and salt and pepper to taste. Set the flame to a low heat and simmer slowly for at least two hours, then remove the fully cooked chicken thighs and allow to cool just enough so that you can handle them with your fingers.


Once the thighs have cooled pull away all the meat and discard the bones and skin.


Add the meat back into the sauce.


Then—and this is something I insist makes the sauce much brighter and more flavorful than my friend's version—add another good handful of fresh mint leaves and simmer for two or three more minutes.


Turn off the heat, stir in around three-quarters of a cup of freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, and serve over your favorite pasta.


You can bet on this one. Trust me.

4 comments:

peter risbara said...

Man ,,,are you the guy that changed Coca Cola .Same result. I hear my grandfather AND grandmother laughing.

Mister Meatball said...

Yes, folks, he is THAT Peter.

colleen said...

I made this sauce and it was delicious. I have a bumper crop of mint and chicken thighs were on sale so I thought why not give this recipe a try. Oh my god, if I never ever learn to make any other sauce I won't have to resort to buying jarred sauce again. This sauce with bucatini pasta and garlic bread to mop up the last speck of sauce so delicious you just have to make it for yourself. I didn't have any anchovies but may try to sneak them in without my anchovy-phobic family knowing the next batch I make. Thanks Mr. Meatball for your wonderful blog.


Mister Meatball said...

So glad you liked it. Thanks for checking in.