The first time I tried to make Marcella Hazan’s tomato sauce I burnt it. My mom pointed out my mistake after: having the heat dial turned as far as it would go counter-clockwise, which I thought was the lowest setting. To get a proper simmer, she said, I had to turn it back to where it’s almost off, igniting just enough of a flame to keep the heat going.
Leave it to me to mess up a notoriously easy idiot-proof recipe.
I always meant to try again, but in the end, it took me four years before I got around to it. And I didn’t even plan on it until I was at the supermarket standing next to the cans of whole peeled tomatoes, thinking to myself: Why not? I picked up a 400g one instead of the 28oz the recipe called for, deciding to halve it for now. I went to the dairy aisle and got a stick of butter and cottage cheese, wanting subtlety and creaminess to finish it off.
I didn’t decide to cook it until 1 a.m. on a Saturday, having woken up from a nap that made me miss dinner. I emptied the can of tomatoes into the pot, added half the stick of butter, cut an onion diagonally (not by design, I’m just bad at it) and also stuck half of it in. Added two or three good pinches of salt—I can never salt anything again without thinking of this tweet—and stirred occasionally. Turned the dial all the way to the left again, a full 180 degrees, worried that the bubbling was still too strong before remembering I was supposed to turn it back until the flame was barely there.
The sauce thickened and its flavor filled the air. Its bubbling felt like a mere afterthought, which is how I knew I had it simmering correctly now. I was finally doing it right.
The halved recipe made just enough to richly coat the entire pack of pasta, which lasted me two servings: one to tide over my hunger from that missed dinner, and another for the next day when I had no idea what to eat for lunch. I put it in a bowl and topped it with some of the cottage cheese, admiring how chunky and streaky and full-bodied the sauce turned out. And then I got to sit down and eat.
Tomato sauces are usually a hit or miss with me—I’m not a fan of adding olive oil and sometimes it just tastes off to me for reasons I can’t explain. But this sauce was perfect, light and fresh and just the right amount of sweet, with even a little bit of umami. It was exactly the way I’d always wished a tomato pasta would be, and even on the first bite I knew I should’ve made a full batch, so I could share it and, yes, have more servings when I wanted.
I first heard of the Marcella Hazan sauce on Alida Nugent’s now-defunct blog Your Best Worst Friend, and it was during a time when my depression was new and unrelenting and my relationship with food was beginning to get complicated. I avoided dinner with my family and everything seemed like a chore, even just fixing myself a bowl of leftovers. (And don’t even get me started on washing the dishes.)
But Alida Nugent’s post, which I’ve put up here because I still re-read it all the time, made the recipe sound simple, and warm, and filling. Comfort in a bowl, no spoon needed. I’ve been obsessed with it ever since. And now, after having made it myself (Me! Not such a kitchen disaster!), I can definitely say it has healing properties, too.
With my mom gone for over a year now, getting food in my stomach hasn’t gotten any easier. I miss her cooking, and I miss savoring a good meal with her. I wish I could’ve shared what I’d cooked with her. But I’m always thinking about that little mistake I made with the heat dial, and how she knew how to fix it when I couldn’t even explain it right. Now, every time I make this sauce, I think of her when I turn the heat down. And it’s just like she’s looking out for me like she always did.
