Canned Tomato

Cooking is all about making decisions. Sometimes you have to decide if you are going to have great looks or great flavor. Of course, I try to have both, but if it is ever a question of giving up one or the other, I always go for the best flavor. In this dish, for example, lightly cooked peppers would look brighter, but I prefer the flavor of peppers that have simmered until they begin to break down. So I cook them longer, for better flavor. Choosing two different-color peppers helps make up for what little we lose in appearance by cooking the peppers fully. Fresh herb sprigs serve as more than decoration. The heat from the dish releases the aroma and adds to the enjoyment.

Texture is a very important part of the gustatory pleasures of tripe. Tripe should be soft and yet resilient; you do not want it mushy. In this recipe, as I do when making many long-simmered sauces, I keep a pot of hot water near the tripe as it simmers. From time to time, I check the tripe, ladling in water if the sauce has cooked down and some of the tripe isn’t covered. At the end of cooking, there should be enough sauce so the tripe is nice and juicy but not watery.

This sauce is traditionally simmered for hours, until a finger’s width of oil floats on top. Typically that oil was then reincorporated into the sauce. In true Italian family style, pass platters of the meat with some sauce spooned over them, and bowls of pasta dressed with the sauce around the table. Buon appetito.

Let as much liquid as possible drain from the tomatoes by cutting out the cores and allowing the juices and seeds inside to escape, and then squeezing them gently with your hands. If the tomatoes are too wet, the crust won’t cook properly. Whether you choose a food mill or food processor to grind the tomatoes, make sure they stay a little chunky. As with all the measurements for seasoning in this book, the amount of oregano I call for is a guideline. If you like a pronounced flavor of oregano, by all means add more.

If you want a really crispy, evenly baked crust, take the time to squeeze the tomatoes of excess liquid when you make the sauce (see following recipe) and drain the mozzarella briefly in a sieve before you put the pizzas together.

If you have beautifully ripe fresh plum tomatoes, peel and seed them for the sauce. If it isn’t tomato season, opt for canned tomatoes, but include a few fresh plum tomatoes to give the sauce a taste of freshness. I like the sweetness of jumbo lump crabmeat in these agnolotti, but if that is not available, substitute any type of fresh, sweet crabmeat, or even fresh sea or bay scallops cut into 1/2-inch pieces.

To keep them both intact, add the little “pockets” of ricotta and the eggplant pieces just before serving the pasta or turning it into the baking dish. It is one of the nuances in cooking that make a difference. When you take a bite of the finished pasta, you’ll get little bursts of different tastes, which you wouldn’t enjoy if the eggplant pieces were broken apart and the ricotta was mixed in with the pasta. If you choose to bake the pasta, make sure the pasta is well moistened when it goes into the baking dish—the heat of the oven will dry it out a little. You can toss little pieces of mozzarella or Fontina cheese in with the pasta before adding the ricotta and eggplant if you like. Just make sure the consistency of the pasta stays fluid and creamy.

A pound of “jumbo” pasta shells contains about thirty-six. This recipe makes enough filling for about thirty shells, so it’s likely you’ll have a few extra shells, which may come in handy, as some shells break in the box or during cooking. Be sure to cook the shells very al dente before filling them, or they will tear when you try to stuff them. Individual servings of stuffed shells make an impressive presentation. If you have enough individual baking dishes, divide the shells and sauce among them, then top with cheese, keeping in mind that you might need a little more cheese to top individual servings than is called for in the recipe.

If you have trouble finding ground pork, or if you prefer to grind your own, it’s really very easy. (And if you buy a piece of bone-in pork to grind, you’ll have the bones you need for the sauce.) Remove all bones and gristle from the meat, but leave some of the fat. Cut the pork into 1-inch pieces, and chill them thoroughly. Grind about half at a time in a food processor fitted with the metal blade. Pulse, using quick on/off motions, until the meat is ground coarsely. In my region of Italy, tomato paste is usually added along with the onions to caramelize a little bit. But around Naples, and the rest of southern Italy, tomato paste is stirred right into the sauce. That’s how I do it here. When the sauce is finished simmering, you can pull the meat from the bones and stir it into the sauce, or you can do what I do—nibble on it while the sauce perks away. This makes quite a bit of sauce—enough to feed a small crowd and have enough left over to freeze in small quantities for a quick pasta meal for one or two.

Make this sauce with fresh tomatoes only when the juiciest, most flavorful ripe tomatoes are available. (Increase the amount of olive oil a little if you make the sauce with fresh tomatoes.) Otherwise, canned plum tomatoes make a delicious marinara sauce.

Bolognese is a very versatile sauce. Not only can it dress all shapes and sizes of pasta, like fresh tagliolini (page 180) or dried spaghetti or rigatoni, you can also use it instead of the Italian-American Meat Sauce (page 144) in the lasagna on page 156, or in a meaty version of the pasticciata on page 158. This recipe makes enough sauce to dress 1 1/2 pounds of dried pasta or one and a half recipes of tagliolini—good for feeding a hungry crowd. It also freezes well, if you’d like to enjoy it in smaller quantities. Warm the sauce while the pasta is cooking and toss it with the cooked pasta, adding a little of the pasta-cooking water if necessary to make a creamy sauce. Toss in some grated Parmigiano-Reggiano just before you serve it.

If possible, buy only the larger joints of the oxtail, since there is more meat on the bones and less work picking it off. But usually (and almost always in supermarkets) a single tail is cut and packaged together. If you’re ordering oxtail through a butcher, ask him to remove as much of the outer fat as possible, and to cut the oxtail cleanly at the joints. If the tail is cut haphazardly, bone chips can occur, which are annoying and can be very dangerous. It’s always a good idea to pick over the pieces of oxtail before you cook with them, to make sure there are no fine pieces of bone. In the traditional Roman dish of coda alla vaccinara, the cheeks of the oxen are braised along with the oxtails. Because this is a very rich and savory sauce, I do not use cheese to dress the pasta, but some people do. I’ll leave it up to you. If you decide to dress the pasta with cheese, use grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. The braised oxtails, left on the bone, make an excellent cold-weather main course, served with polenta. If you’re serving the oxtails as a main course, you might want to cut the vegetables larger, so they hold their shape during cooking.

This version of a classic Italian pasta dish is prepared with prosciutto, as was often done in Italian-American restaurants. For a more traditional version, substitute 6 ounces of guanciale (cured pork-cheek bacon) or regular bacon cut into 1/4-inch strips for the prosciutto. Cook the guanciale or bacon in the skillet with the olive oil before adding the onion. Cook until lightly browned but still soft, about 4 minutes for the guanciale or 2 minutes for the bacon. Then add the onion and continue with the recipe as below.