After I tied my hair in a black handkerchief and put on a reasonably unwelcoming if not threatening face, I set myself to the cooking of the ragù.
I deliberately ignored the original family recipe my own mamma tried to push forward, deciding to give Locatelli's a go. The complete recipe is to be found on Chefs Gone Wild, a great blog orchestrated by a Gâteau Basque god (kudos again)(toutes mes ficelles de caleçon). For any question, please go and nag him. Anyway, by the time you're done that's what you're going to be bopping by:
And the answer to the question "Good thing, where have you gone" is "In my tummy", not "Doodoodoobeedoo".
Keep swaying those hips in rhythm, girlies.
It's true what people say, you need a freakin recipe to start with. Ideally, aim at not too elliptic, unlike me.
And fresh rosemary and sage from your garden, that's nice too.
Get the usual suspects out of the fridge, line them up, collect fingerprints and do a full body search. That involves peeling them off their pimp outfits.
'Fess up, veggies (crachez le morceau, légumes).
Dice everybody finely as they refused to speak. Well they had it coming (ça leur pendait au nez).
You are the king of the julienne and you love it.
Next, sweat them 5 minutes in hot olive oil in a wide & deep pan (with garlic and the bundle of herbs) stirring constantly to avoid colouring (remember bruising on interrogated suspects is always bad form). Then add the seasoned minced neck (le collier) which you have previously brought to room temperature. That is a really good trick, that one is. Once you have thrown the mince in the pan, spread it on the bottom and leave 5 minutes on high heat until it is sealed, don't stir it, just give it a rest (foutez lui la paix). When the time is up, stir away like a good little soldier.
It should look like that. No funny water or foam is coming out of that good meat.
I can't remember the rest of the recipe very well, because that's the point where you add the wine. I checked beforehand with the chef and the recipe requires that you have a glass or two in the process of making the ragù. I started taking amazing pictures of my feet and other interesting features of my 17 square meter kitchen/bedroom/living room. Anyhoo.
So pour the wine in, tasting it to make sure it's not corked (what dedication). Let it reduce, I quote, to "virtually nothing". Then add a spoonful of tomato paste, stir steadily for some time (time-space continuum gets blurred, after a glass or two), then add the passata. Turn the heat dooown. Let it simmer for ages. About enough time for you to make yourself a snack and have a nap.
Another great "before and after" shot. You feel the finitude/achievement thingy seeping in your soul.
Oh by the way, for a reason not yet absolutely clear to me, it looks on all my pictures like I'm cooking on board the Entreprise. Just to clarify, I am not.
"And our kitchen has never looked THAT shiny. What product do you use?"
And when it's ready, guys, it's ready. Cook your fresh papardelle, top with a laddle of ragù, feed your three guinea-pigs/friends. Tuck in too. Because you're worth it.
Wearing a delicate white top isn't recommended. I did it anyway because I'm a rebel.