Our white stove is spattered red, as is the sleeve of my dress. There are thin, red skins blocking the sink and caught up in the plug, like seaweed on a ship’s chain. I have also just touched my contact lens with the same fingers that crumbled chillies, and finished a big bottle of olive oil. In return, though, we have just eaten the most satisfying and fiery tomato sauce.
As much as I enjoy the tinned tomato sauces that see us through the winter and spring, there is nothing like fresh tomato sauce. One that shouts summer, even when the sky doesn’t; one that is bright, jammy and slick with olive oil.
Every pan is different from the last, even when you did exactly the same thing as last time with ostensibly identical ingredients.
What’s more, fresh tomato sauce brings out the best in us as cooks, appealing to our nurturing side, because we know that whether we are dealing with fruit just tugged from a fragrant vine, or less advantaged tomatoes, or any of the degrees in between, it is our responsibility to bring out the best in our sauce.
Tomatoes “require the cook to appreciate context”, wrote the American food writer and journalist Molly O’Neill in A Well-Seasoned Appetite, her book of words and recipes – a book that seems even more alive now that she has, sadly, gone. That line stuck in my head and reminded me of the most obvious, but often forgotten, thing to consider about tomatoes: their circ*mstances and conditions. How ripe are they? How taut or fleshy? Are they watery, sweet or acidic? Taste, think, then cook accordingly.
Good olive oil is always a good start for fresh tomato sauce – it is the foundation, so lay it well. Less flavourful tomatoes can be cooked in olive oil and garlic, skin on, then passed through a food mill to extract every bit of flavour. A handful of sweet cherry tomatoes, raw or roasted, or a squirt of concentrate, can enhance a kilo of disadvantaged ones. Garlic, peeled and lightly crushed, whispers its sunny fragrance, whereas sliced or diced it roars. Acidic tomatoes can be balanced with a spoonful of sugar (don’t believe anyone who tells you this is not a done thing in Italian sauces). Tomatoes that are already too sweet can be corrected with salt and a dot of vinegar, while wateriness can be cured by patience, and bubbled away.
Then there is the dimension of heat, which in Rome means the use of peperoncino, or red chilli, most often used in its dried form. It is nowhere more apparent than in arrabbiata sauce, which literally translates as “angry”, but physically translates as “fiery delight”.
The English word “context” comes from the Latin con (together) and texere (to weave). Could there be two better words to describe the coming together – the weaving – of tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, salt, heat and time into a sauce?
“Spaghetti o penne?” Silvano asks Alfio in the film Sette Chilli in Sette Giorni, as the two young doctors prepare a clandestine arrabbiata while their patients sleep in the diet clinic. “Penne – si chiama penne al arrabbiata” (“penne – it is called penne all’arrabbiata”) replies an exasperated Alfio, referring to the quill-shaped pasta that is the most familiar shape for this rich, Roman sauce.
It is also traditional to add a final swirl of olive oil and a handful of chopped parsley as you toss the sauce with the penne.
Penne all’arrabbiata - penne with spicy tomato sauce
Prep 20 min (if peeling tomatoes, 5 mins if not)
Cook 20 min
Serves 4
6 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
700g fresh plum tomatoes, peeled and coarsely chopped (or tinned, without juice)
1-2 small, hot dried chillies, crumbled
Salt
400g-500g penne
1 heaped tbsp chopped parsley
Grated pecorino, to serve (optional)
Put the olive oil and garlic in a frying pan. Put the pan over a medium-low heat and let the garlic sizzle gently for a few minutes – do not let it burn – then remove the garlic from the pan.
Add the tomatoes to the pan along with the crumbled chilli and a pinch of salt, and cook, covered, for 10 minutes.
Remove the lid, turn up the heat under the pan, and cook for another five minutes. By the end of cooking, the sauce should be thick and shiny with a slick of oil.
While the sauce is simmering, bring a large pan of water to a boil for the pasta. Add salt, stir, then add the pasta and cook until al dente.
Ideally, tip the sauce into a warm bowl, add the drained pasta, parsley and a bit more oil, toss, and then divide between bowls. Otherwise, mix everything in the saucepan and serve directly from there.
