Eating My Words: Ewan McDonald

THEY gave it to the world. Possibly. And now they want it back. Definitely.
It’s the world’s best-known Italian dish, named after a town where it’s never served, and it travels under a French name.
“Travels” is the right word: if there’s one recipe for it, there are a million, just about none of them written down (though you’ll find four options later, and you might like to email yours to us). Every boy who’s ever picked up a frypan in a flat from Invercargill to Townsville, from Hamilton to Perth, has his own individual, never-fail, Friday-night formula for the perfect version.
Which is possibly why, according to The Times of London’s man in Rome, Italy has “begun a campaign to defend the reputation of one of its most famous but most widely abused exports”.
We are not talking about Ferraris or fashion or footballers here. Nor prosciutto or parmigiano or the Pope. Nor even chianti. We are chewing the fat about Spagbol. Spaghetti Bolognaise, as it’s best known, though that’s the Frenchified name. Spaghetti alla Bolognese as it will likely appear on the menu at your local pizza & pasta joint.
According to Richard Owen’s report, Coldiretti – the Italian farmers’ union – feels that when people around the world believe they are eating spaghetti bolognese, they are actually forking up “improbable concoctions” of tomato paste from a jar with a “remarkable variety” of ingredients, from meatballs or turkey to mortadella.
Which translates, if we’re still talking about Friday night in a flat in Hamilton, as luncheon sausage. Washed down with Waikato Green, probably, unless there just happens to be a brunello in the fridge.
Anyway, at the weekend, some 440 chefs in Italian restaurants in 50 countries from Malaysia to Turkey, Saudi Arabia to China made the authentic dish with instructions laid down in a recipe patented by the Bologna Chamber of Commerce in 1982.
Because they were being authentic, they served ragu – bolognese sauce if you must – with tagliatelle, not spaghetti, conforming to a 1972 “authentic recipe” which lays down that the flat egg noodles must be precisely 8mm wide.
Mario Caramella, of the Bali Hyatt Hotel in Indonesia and head of the Virtual Association of Italian Chefs, said: “If there is one dish in the Italian repertoire which is cooked worst than most, it is traditional bolognese sauce.”
Alessandro Circiello, of the Italian Federation of Chefs, cooks in Modena, near Bologna. “It is always the great classic recipes that are most mangled,” he told Milan’s Corriere della Sera newspaper. Too many cooks outside Italy tend to “throw a lot of cream and butter into dishes to cover up hidden blemishes”.
Perish the thought. Remind me not to invite Alessandro around for my infamous lemon and asparagus risotto.
This being Italy, of course, that’s when the arguments started.
Owen goes on to report Gianluigi Veronesi, a food writer, saying the world festival of bolognese sauce was too late “because frankly, they don’t even make it properly in Bologna any more”.
Ouch! That hurt. For Bologna is nicknamed “La grassa” – Fat City – because of the locals’ love of food and the quality of its ingredients and cuisine. It’s generally regarded as the capital of Cucina Italia. Unless, of course, you or your mother or your father’s grandfather came from Milano or Firenze or Napoli or Roma or Palermo, in which case Milano or Firenze or Napoli or Roma or …
The “traditional” 1982-registered recipe demands only beef, pancetta, onions, carrots, celery, tomato paste, meat stock, red wine, and either milk or cream. Even in Fat City, though, cooks have been known to use chopped pork, chicken or goose liver, prosciutto, mortadella, or porcini to enrich the sauce. Which is not, come to think of it, too far removed from the old Hamilton flat trick of dumping a can of mushrooms into the mix. Sorry, ragu.
And forget the Velluto Rosso. Traditionally white wine, not red, is used.
The reason that Spaghetti alla Bolognese never existed in Bologna is because the Bolognese (the people, not the dish), as mentioned earlier, serve the sauce with freshly made tagliatelle and their green lasagne. It was invented as a dash, not a full dish, of beef-mince sauce to go with those pastas. Spaghetti is a durum wheat pasta from Naples, ideal for that city’s ragu – a meat-flavoured, thick tomato sauce that clings much better to the thinner, slippery noodles.
Still, it’s the local variations of Spagbol that are rocking all over the world and – with almost al dente timing – a survey released on just about the same day as the great Bolognese meltdown revealed that the most common dish cooked by British mums was … oh, you guessed.
Merchant Gourmet’s survey found the average UK mother relies on just nine different meals to feed her family. Hectic modern-day lifestyles, fussy children and spouses who work long hours have all contributed to a lack of experimentation in planning a family meal. The survey also found that dinner time takes the average mother 35 minutes from start to finish, and four in 10 mothers play it safe by choosing meals they know their family like.
The top dinners? 1 Spaghetti Bolognaise, 2 Roast dinner, 3 Shepherd’s pie, 4 Pasta dish, 5 Meat and two veg, 6 Pizza, 7 Casserole/stew, 8 Sausages and chips/mash 9 Indian/curry.
Spagbol, pasta and pizza – that’s three out of nine for the Italians. Perhaps they should be proud, not precious, about their contributions to the world’s dinner tables. As we used to say in the flat in Hamilton on Friday nights, like it or lump it.

Spaghetti Bolognese – four ways

1 Like nonna used to make
Serves 4
300g minced best beef
150g bacon
50g yellow carrots
50g stick of celery
30g onion
5 tablespoons tomato sauce, or 20g tomato concentrate.
Half glass dry white wine
Cup of milk
A little stock
Chop bacon and fry gently with the chopped carrots, celery and onion. Add meat, wine and stock until they sizzle, then add tomato sauce and simmer for two hours, adding milk gradually during cooking, and season to taste.

2 Marcella Hazan’s version
Serves 4 to 6
1 tbsp vegetable oil
4 tbsp butter, divided
1/2 cup chopped onion
2/3 cup chopped celery
2/3 cup chopped carrot
¾ – lb ground beef chuck
Salt
Fresh ground black pepper
1 cup whole milk
Whole nutmeg
Cup dry white wine
1 1/2 cups canned Italian plum tomatoes, torn into pieces, with juice
1 1/4- 1 ½ lbs pasta (preferably spaghetti), cooked and drained
Freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese at the table
Put oil, three tablespoons of butter and the chopped onion in a heavy 3.3-litre (6-pint) pot and turn heat to medium. Cook and stir onion until it has become translucent, then add chopped celery and carrot. Cook for about two minutes, stirring vegetables to coat well.
Add the ground beef, a large pinch of salt and a few grindings of pepper. Crumble meat with a fork, stir well and cook until beef has lost its raw, red colour.
Add milk and let simmer gently, stirring frequently, until it has bubbled away completely. Add a tiny grating, about an eighth of a teaspoon, of fresh nutmeg and stir.
Add wine and let it simmer until it has evaporated. Add tomatoes and stir thoroughly to coat all ingredients well. When tomatoes begin to bubble, turn heat down so that sauce cooks at the laziest of simmers, with just an intermittent bubble breaking through the surface. Cook, uncovered, for three hours or more, stirring from time to time. While sauce is cooking, you are likely to find that it will begin to dry out and the fat will separate from the meat. To keep it from sticking, add half a cup of water as necessary. At the end of cooking, however, the water should be completely evaporated and the fat should separate from the sauce. Taste and correct for salt.
Add remaining tablespoon of butter to the hot pasta and toss with the sauce. Serve with freshly grated parmesan on the side.
From Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan

3 Elizabeth David’s version
Serves 6
225g lean minced beef
115g chicken livers
85g uncooked ham (both fat and lean)
1 carrot
1 onion
1 small piece of celery
3 tsp concentrated tomato puree
1 glass white wine
2 wine glasses stock or water
Butter
Salt and pepper
Nutmeg
Cut the bacon or ham into very small pieces and brown them gently in a small saucepan in about 15g of butter. Add the onion, the carrot and the celery, all finely chopped. When they have browned, put in the raw minced beef, and then turn it over and over so that it all browns evenly. Add the chopped chicken livers, and after two or three minutes the tomato puree, and then the white wine. Season with salt (taking into account the relative saltiness of the ham or bacon), pepper, and a scraping of nutmeg, and add the meat stock or water.
Cover the pan and simmer the sauce very gently for 30-40 minutes. Some cooks in Bologna add a cupful of cream or milk to the sauce, which makes it smoother. Another traditional variation is the addition of the ovarine or unlaid eggs which are found inside the hen, especially in the spring when the hens are laying. They are added at the same time as the chicken livers and form small golden globules when the sauce is finished. When the ragu is to be served with spaghetti or tagliatelle, mix it with the hot pasta in a heated dish so that the pasta is thoroughly impregnated with the sauce, and add a generous piece of butter before serving. Hand the grated cheese round separately.
From Italian Food by Elizabeth David

4 Heston Blumenthal’s Bolognese Sauce
Serves 4
50ml groundnut (peanut) oil
50g unsalted butter
100g onion, peeled and finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and minced
1 star anise
150g carrot, finely chopped
4 sticks celery, peeled (with a peeler) and finely chopped
300g best-quality minced beef, not too lean (a mix of beef, veal and/or pork could also be used)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
150ml whole milk
Nutmeg (whole, for grating)
150ml dry white wine
375g tinned tomatoes, with juice
500g dried tagliatelle
Preheat the oven to its lowest setting (110C/ 225F). Put the oil and butter in a large casserole with a lid and add the onion, garlic and star anise.
Cook over a low heat for 30 minutes. Add the chopped carrots and continue cooking for another 20 minutes, then add the celery and cook for a further couple of minutes. Tip in the mince and press down on it gently, so it is integrated into the vegetables, and cook.
Generously season the meat mixture and add the milk. Grate over some nutmeg and cook gently for at least 30 minutes, until the milk has just about disappeared.
Add the white wine and tomatoes, stir through, then place in the oven, with the lid of the casserole slightly ajar. Cook for at least six hours. It probably won’t be necessary, but if the meat starts to look dry, add a drop of water.
After cooking, some fat will have split and risen to the surface, but don’t worry about that. When the sauce has finished cooking, it should be rich and moist.
Check for seasoning -be generous with the freshly ground black pepper. Serve with the pasta, cooked according to packet instructions, and some freshly grated parmigiano.

Fresh Ginger and Milk Chocolate Biscotti – Make a day ahead for the perfect biscotti

230 grams/8 ounces cold unsalted butter

35grams/ 1 ounce peeled and sliced fresh ginger root

100 grams/1/2 cup sugar

100 grams/ ½ cup light brown sugar

100 grams/1/2 cup dark brown sugar

4 large cold eggs

510 grams/18 ounces plain flour

1 teaspoon fine sea salt

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

3 teaspoons baking powder

120 grams/4 ¼ ounces Plain flour

230 grams/8 ounces milk chocolate pieces

How to Make

Combine butter, ginger and sugars in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse until the mixture is fully blended and looks like wet sand. There should be no visible chunks of ginger left. Add the eggs one at a time, pulsing to blend in each egg before adding the next. Whisk together the flour, salt, cinnamon and baking powder until well blended. Add all of the flour mixture to the food processor and pulse until the dough comes together.

Sprinkle the counter with the remaining 120g of flour and turn the dough out onto the flour. Sprinkle 1/3 of the chocolate onto the dough and use a bench scraper to fold the dough around the chocolate. Add the next third and fold it into the dough. Add the final third and fold it until the dough is smooth and the chocolate is incorporated. Divide the dough in half. Wrap each piece in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least four hours.

Preheat the oven to 350°F/ 325°F convection. Line two half sheet trays with parchment or foil.

Divide the first piece of dough in half and gently roll it out into a log approximately 10”x2” and place it on one of the prepared sheet trays. Do the same with the remaining half of the dough and place it on the other side of the sheet tray, leaving equal amounts of space between the two logs and from each side of the sheet tray. Do the same thing with the second piece of dough. Bake the logs for 23-28 minutes until the log are golden brown and cooked through. Slice each log on an angle into 1-2cm thick pieces. Set the end pieces aside for snacks. Lay the slices out on the sheet trays and return them to the oven. Bake for another 10-15 minutes until the slices are golden brown and dry to the touch. Let the cookies cool on the sheet trays before serving.

Ewan McDonald
“THANK YOU for calling. Your call is important to us. However, the restaurant is closed until January 14 …” Can’t count how many times I’ve heard that message in the past week or so. Sometimes it’s different: sometimes it’s January 18. Or so.
Which is all very well, and no one can blame restaurants for turning off the ovens and shutting the doors at this time of year. Face it, most Kiwis are at the beach, or the tennis, or on the deck, around the barbecue. Salad days, fresh-caught fish nights.
But when your Nearest and Dearest’s birthday falls in the first week of January, how do you mark that special occasion? Especially when Jude shares the Big Day – not that it was a Specially Big Day this year – with her best friend, Janet. Two headaches for the price of … well, none, if we couldn’t find a place that would be open for a meal and a couple of celebratory glasses.
Of course, someone with slightly more memory cells than me would have found a way around this by now. Another Significant Other’s birthday landed at New Year. Same problem, though tougher times mean many fine-dining restaurants have changed the arrangements of earlier years and open in the Christmas-New Year week.
Note “fine-dining”, for that was the problem for the four of us. Plenty of eateries are open in January but – no disrespect – somehow we couldn’t see ourselves truly enjoying intimate conversation and gourmet degustation at Lone Star. We wanted a sophisticated evening, and a platter of Redneck Ribs and four mugs of Bud wouldn’t cut it.
Janet and I went to and fro, then fro and to, but nothing seemed to work. On the night before, I made the call: “You guys be at our place at 6. It’s a surprise.”
Which it was, and there were plenty of compliments for my four-course birthday dinner, for which I am truly thankful and not a little surprised. It was simple: just an hour with my old mate Google to find the recipes; leaving work an hour or two early – hey, not a lot happens in the news business during January – to cut, toss and fix Bellinis and Caprese crackers for the toast; chicken, pomegranate and walnut salad for the starter; baked snapper with ginger and mandarin sauce, Jersey bennes for the main; a dessert of Amaretto-soused blueberries with yoghurt.
This evening was, if you will, the private party. Being women, and therefore more (insert your own adjective here: you won’t catch this middle-aged male falling into that trap), Jude and Janet came up with a unique way of celebrating their shared occasion some years ago.
About a week before, they email friends to invite them on a Gourmet Picnic and Tramp. Or maybe it’s a Gourmet Tramp and Picnic. Whatever, the venue is their much loved Waitakere Ranges. So everyone who’s around Auckland, and feeling slightly active, meets at the Hardware Café – world-famous in Titirangi – at 10am on the given Saturday. Or 11. Or so.
There’s usually around 20 or 30 starters. The oldest has been Jude’s mother, Joan, then 82. There are always one or two babies in backpacks. Well, frontpacks: the backpacks are for food. At least three dogs tag along, or run in front.
We hike through bush, ford streams, wade pools, pull ourselves up banks by the odd vine for an hour or two until we reach a broad, flat, rock platform between two waterfalls tumbling into natural swimming-pools. They’re freezing, even in high summer. This spot does have an official name but we call it “the Goddess Pools”.
By now it’s lunchtime and we’ve built up 20 or 30 healthy appetites. Everyone unstraps their packs for the reveal: out tumble breads, cheeses, pates, pies, salads, cold dishes, fruits and more. Tea or juice for the toast, though someone has been known to heft a bottle of bubbly through the jungle if either of the organisers is marking a Major Number that year.
Then we turn for home. It’s only a couple of hours’ more walking, a couple more swims and – right at the end, just to burn off those recently acquired kilojoules – 350 steps cut into the hillside before we reach the carpark.
Bush and birdsong, friends and food, in a primal scene. We’ve eaten in (apologies to Douglas Adams) The Restaurant at the Beginning of the Universe. And it’s open all year.