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Sugo - The Stove & Stocisim - the Italian way by Anne Pia
- Anne Pia
- 5 hours ago
- 7 min read
My youngest daughter sits at the table. She is approaching middle age. Well, all three are! There is a plate of pasta before her… pappardelle, wonderful luscious ribbons, folding soft, enfolding and yielding. This pasta must surely be the king or queen of the pasta world; a pasta that is reliable and substantial; a pasta with presence which distinguishes itself at any gathering; demands attention; and a pasta which is never eaten al dente should that be your choice, though never mine. For south of Rome which is where we originate from, we like all our pasta cooked through. In and hungry from the potato fields of Viticuso, that beautiful hamlet about 40miles up and over the hills from Cassino…having laboured, a family waits to be fed; or in for a quick break from the shop counter in Leith where many Italian families initially made homes; from the Gaggia coffee machine, the ice cream freezer, the chip range in Portobello or the Grassmarket, people need to eat.
Pappardelle in my home is served in a rich, velvety clinging ragú, quaffable, spreadable and
definitely spoonable; try (even as it cooks), gathering its tomatoey traces from the pot’s rim with a chunk of bread. This ragú is made from salsicce piccanti, spicy pork sausages, and has been cooking for four or five hours, usually the day before it is needed. This allows the flavours to develop. Here in Scotland, though never when in Italy or Greece where the sun has blessed all that grows, I have learned to help my tomatoes along by adding tomato purée and a tin or two of polpo di pomodoro for the sweetness they lack. So my sugo consists of 20-25 soft, thin-skinned extra large tomatoes; 4-5 cloves of minced garlic, a tablespoon or two of tomato purée and a tin or two of polpa di pomodoro, the tins rinsed with warm water; in addition, a teaspoon or maybe more of sugar; a hint of fresh chilli and some smoked paprika.
The salsicce are added about 20-25 minutes before serving, having previously been browned. This is a recipe which has evolved over years. You may also find that you have enough to store for another time. Though this is rarely the case!
My daughter has learned the art of slow, slow cooking her sugo from me. What she is unaware of, and it is probably of little interest too I think, as she returns again and again to the platter in front of her, is that the sugo has been handed down: from my Grandma, her great grandmother, who came to Scotland in 1913 aged 25; then to my mother…both of them entrepreneurs and shopowners; and then to me and to my daughters. This is sugo in motion, evolving with each generation; a sugo recipe of its time and its place; and a recipe now passed on. I am not entirely convinced however, that secretly, hot honey, the toast of London’s Peckham, London Fields’ foodie markets, may not represent a new addition in my children’s home to what I already consider to be tomato perfection.
La Cucina Povera: The Food That Walked to Scotland
Asma Khan, Indian born British restaurateur of an all-female immigrant kitchen, culinary activist, is hugely outspoken on the politics of food, how politics shapes what and how we eat. The Italian Risorgimento or Unification, an enormous, radical unsettling with enormous consequences, proud for some, devastating for others…often violent…creating a stark economic divide between the North and Central Italy and the South and Italy’s islands and between the 1890s and the 1920s, a first wave, my grandparents included who came in 1913, of emigration. While most of the country was in the midst of rapid industrialisation and growth, the South, its economy still agrarian, struggled to survive. The few, precious resources that families had, were carefully stored, preserved and skilfully adapted, to keep families nourished and healthy: hence la cucina povera.
It was this proud food tradition, la cucina povera, this background, that accompanied those many families as they made their way, successively over decades, sometimes mainly on foot to Scotland and elsewhere; it was this tradition, our tradition, staunchly upheld by the mammas, sisters, wives and nonnas, even as Italian families flourished economically, as they slowly integrated and became sewn into Scottish life, that represented the non-negotiable bedrock of italian home life in Scotland. Amidst striving and opportunity, achievement and education, lives lived in the public eye, in private and intimate spheres, food and its language, practices around it, the culture, values and beliefs associated with it, were the reliable, reassuring family anchor; the solid footing on which they slowly advanced. Food has been too a quiet, constant comforting assertion of identity, especially when times were hard. And this business, the business of food was certainly, whatever else was required of them, the sole preserve of women. It was not uncommon for a family as mine did, to live above their businesses; or in the “back shop”. Families ate there, negotiated and did business there; argued there. They met with other Italians; and the women, mothers, managers of staff and stock, moving between counter, cash machine and cooker. In those familiar back shops, there was always a sugo bubbling, maybe a minestra, a glass of wine, a small liqueur, a slice of prosciutto or frittata. Every visitor, expected or not, needs fed. Communities grew, expanded, spread and eventually rooted.
The Women Who Held Everything Together
Despite the shock of war, sons, grandfathers, mild hardworking shopkeepers… fascists only in name perhaps, taken in whatever they stood up in; interned for years, the mob violence and destruction of the shops that provided families with a hard-won living; the loss of 443 men and boys drowned on the over loaded, unmarked, barb- wired Arandora Star in WW2; many individuals have excelled. Prime in their field they bring diversity, a new way of seeing things, to the arts, business, and the professions. They were mainly raised by brave mothers, those hardy, wise women, some with no language or literacy even in their own language, like my own Grandmother. And they grew up with the ever-present traditions of Sunday Mass and pasta; fed on a sugo ben stagionata, elevated sometimes by a slow cooked chicken; a hunk of cheap beef…silverside, hough or shank; cooked low and slow, the sauce aromatic and earthy. Or when times were hard, the leftovers turned magically into a glorious 12 egg frittata.
And Now, My Daughter
What my daughter does know of that history is the key role of food in any family or gathering of friends. She knows that food is not bought ready-made, it is not assembled, but irrespective of all the other demands of life, food is fresh, carefully selected, prepared and lovingly tended on the stove. Along with the fierce work ethic of her origins, the openness, regard and respect for other ways of life and cultures this would be her legacy.
A major gift from her ancestry is too, the key role of women, the example of their consistent
strength, courage and forbearance in hard times, in times of war and oppression; times when being suddenly referred to as enemy and alien required the super-skills of acceptance of fate and chance despite the losses; of generosity of heart, of likeability, of perseverance; of eternal hope and a belief that things would get better. That there is good in everyone. She needs to understand is that through their ministering and charm, abilities to work alongside, their persuasiveness, ingenuity, as well as new found entrepreneurship and business acumen, their reinstating in the streets and their local neighbourhoods, a wave of huge respect and love… love once more for the “italian woman in the chippy” and the “italian man’s frothy coffee”.
The Italian community of today owes much of its standing to them. Most of all, through all of our history as incomers to Scotland, food as survival, food as negotiation, as dialogue, food as
celebration, as intimacy and family, as love of friends and neighbours and anyone who had less, was our reliable unfailing heartbeat; a heart stoically carried by our mothers, grandmothers and great grandmothers before them.
Up until very recently, no one knew what the word sugo meant. It had to be explained. There is even a restaurant chain now, by that name: Sugo Pasta in Glasgow’s Mitchell Street. We have come a long way.
My daughter eats with relish. And it is with enormous pride that we enjoy and share that very
simple dish of pappardelle al sugo with you.
A Simple Sugo
10-15 extra large, thin-skinned over ripe tomatoes
3/4 cloves of garlic
1 tin of chopped tomatoes or polpo di pomodoro
1 tbsp of tomato purée
Enough vegetable stock to loosen and add flavour to the mix in the pot
I teaspoon of sugar
1/2 teaspoon of smoked paprika
Scant scattering of dried chilli flakes
Salt and pepper to taste
Start by peeling the tomatoes and then roughly chopping them
Chop and mince the garlic. Into a large pot, pour enough olive oil to just cover the base and add the garlic. When it has taken on a little colour, add the tomato purée. Let it toast for a minute then add the fresh tomatoes.
Stir the contents of the pot well and then pour in the chopped tomatoes or polpo from the tin. Wash out the tin with hot water, add the tomato water to the pot, together with the stock.
Give a good stir. This is the time to add the sugar and any other flavours you may fancy. My choice is paprika… smoked. Some traditional cooks add fruit…but omit the sugar.
Cook the sugo on a very low heat for a minimum of 2 hours or until the colour changes from bright red to a brown red and the sauce is velvety.
Leave overnight. It will keep in the fridge for a week in an airtight container.
When you are serving the pasta, add a few tablespoonfuls of the pasta water to the sauce. Rinse your pasta with a touch of olive oil and enough of the sauce to give colour. Place your pasta in a mound on a flat serving dish and top with the remainder of the sauce.
This sauce will work with any pasta but we love it with pappardelle, paccheri, strozzapreti and orecchiette. Every pasta has its perfect sauce pairing.
