Patience. Lots of patience.
At least once a month, on Friday afternoons, I pop into my trusted butcher’s and pick up about half a kilo of mixed minced meat. Just to be on the safe side. Because usually, during the week, the meal plans have been tweaked a bit – guests didn’t turn up or there were more than expected – so there are a few beetroots left, a lone celery stalk, some rather tired onions, two unused leeks, a few mushrooms, and that pork sausage that nobody wanted. That’s the moment when I tidy up my fridge, inspired by the famous Kägi. Yes, I’ve followed his recipe more or less, and it’s brilliant, but sometimes I just can’t manage to prep the celery at seven in the morning so that I can have a 12-hour ragù on the table by seven in the evening. But around 5 pm, over a first glass of white wine, that’s when I feel more inspired; that’s when I really enjoy being in the kitchen, even as a change from the rest of the day’s work – peeling beetroot, chopping onions, where’s the bloody leek, I really need to buy garlic, well, I’ll just throw in this last ‘mouse-shit’ chilli (that’s actually what it’s called, Prik Khi Nu in Thai) as well.
So, what I had:
– 1/2 a celery stalk (not too big)
– 3 carrots (just normal ones)
– 2 leeks
– 1 large onion
– 3 small garlic cloves
– about 10 mushrooms
– 600 grams of mixed minced meat (at room temperature)
– 2 salsicce (pork, fresh, doesn’t matter where they’re from, at room temperature)
– 2 or 3 fiery chillies
– then the usual stuff (you’ve got to have it): olive oil, salt (I never need salt…), pepper, red wine, passata. Anything else? Yes, a tiny bit of rosemary and thyme from the garden – you’ve got it, or you don’t.
– Patience. Lots of patience.
First the vegetables: finely chop the celery, carrots (beets, as we say in Switzerland) and leek, then sweat them in a little olive oil in a large roasting tin (this takes about 15 minutes). At the same time, prepare the onion, garlic (yes, I’m a staunch believer that onion and garlic don’t clash – quite the opposite), and mushrooms. Take the vegetables out of the roasting tin, add the mushroom-onion-garlic-chilli mixture to the same pan, and take it out again at some point (you’ll smell it). Meanwhile, skin the sausages, flatten them (you can do this with the back of a knife), then, once the roasting tin is empty again, first fry the minced meat over a very high heat, then add the pork sausages and brown everything at a high temperature. As I don’t use salt, I then add a little soy sauce to each, to caramelise them, so to speak; but you don’t have to.
Then: return the vegetable and onion mixture to the meat in the large pot. It smells so incredibly good now, you absolutely must have a glass of wine. Red is best here; you can also pour a few drops into the pot. Or not. But then: wait. Don’t add any more liquid, as enough will form now. Let it all simmer peacefully on the lowest heat for about 2 or 3 hours, stirring now and then so everything gets to know each other well. After all, we want a harmonious relationship between the ingredients. After two hours at the earliest, I then add a bottle of good passata. Because I like the colour it creates. And I find that slightly tangy note of the tomato quite fitting. The know-it-alls of every country would say the original recipe works just fine without this or that, but with, say, milk (milk?), but I don’t care; let everyone do as they please or as they can. After all, cooking is almost like real life.
Whilst waiting, I’m reading Soetsu Yanagi’s *The Beauty of Things* (Penguin Classics, 2018 – it’s so-so; the first chapter is excellent, but it doesn’t get any better after that) and, once again, *In Search of Perfection* by Heston Blumenthal (Bloomsbury, 2006), specifically the chapter on ‘Spaghetti Bolognese’. Blumenthal, surely one of the most fascinating chefs around, sets out in search of his ‘best’ recipe for ragù; he describes it beautifully, as he clearly knows his stuff. His recipe does seem a bit absurd, though – he starts by flavouring the olive oil with star anise. Er, why? On the other hand, he does offer some good ideas, so I might give that a go myself. But not today – my fridge is now tidy. Otherwise, I’m reading – lazy Sunday (apart from about seven stories for Radical) – 11Freunde, Spiegel, The Guardian, The Washington Post online, but somehow it’s all dreadful, what’s being reported from the wider world – diesel for my darling is now at 2 francs; can I send Donald the bill for the surcharge?
Overnight, the hob and the ragù can have a rest too, the latter nicely covered. Early in the morning I turn the hob back on, lowest setting; from now on, the whole lot gets another 12 hours. Give it a stir now and then; I get up once an hour anyway, cigarette, outside – that’s a good rhythm for the ragù too. You have to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get too dry, though it shouldn’t; otherwise, not much will happen. Except in the nose, of course – the whole house is filled with this wonderful aroma. I don’t even need to taste it; I can see it’s turning out well. It should, of course, be served with fresh pasta, but as there was still too much of that pasta left over from yesterday, I’ll fry it today – that’s another pleasure that makes me happy (highly recommended in this context: Harold McGee, On Food and Cooking – The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, Scribner, New York, 2004. Goodness, what a know-it-all I am here). Salad? Ok.
More of these simple pleasures can be found on pure.
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