A friend recently had a baby, so I made lasagna, because it's what you do when babies are born. Unfortunately lasagna is one of the weaker parts of my game, so I went to seek expert advice: my dear friend with an Italian grandmother. I've had her lasagna on multiple occasions, and it's really an art to get the correct balance of creamy ricotta cheese, enough but not too much sauce, perfect al dente pasta, and not too much mozz blanketing the top layer. It took me a few days to pluck up the courage to ask for the family recipe, and she kindly obliged (I think she understood that lasagna is what you do when babies are born).
Not only did I get a photo of her recipe card, I got all the unwritten margin notes from her years of experience making it. I am sworn to secrecy and can't share the recipe, but I will tell you that it does take advantage of a great tip I also found online (so I feel comfortable sharing from an intellectual property perspective): cook meat in the tomato sauce, then remove the meat before using the sauce in the lasagna. The savory, meaty flavor pervades the tomato sauce, but you don't have the extra texture or potential dryness to deal with (PLUS in my case of using meatballs to flavor the sauce, we got a lovely second meal for our troubles). I shared my recipe for oven-roasted tomato sauce, in which I cooked the meatballs, below.
Here's my favorite part about this recipe: all that week I bragged to anyone who would listen that I was
in possession of a real nonna's lasagna recipe - like, from the Old Country. A few weeks later when I saw my friend again, she asked me how the recipe turned out, and we exchanged notes. I thanked her again profusely for so generously sharing her family treasure, and she laughed. She had actually told her 93-year-old grandmother that she shared the recipe with me, and their conversation went something like this:
"Lasagna?" (puzzled) "I gave you a family lasagna recipe?"
"Yes, Grammie."
"We made plenty of pasta growing up, but lasagna just wasn't worth the trouble for how many mouths it could feed. I got that recipe off the back of a Prince® box."
We laughed for about ten minutes. Of course, she had adapted the recipe with some
nonna magic that the pasta conglomerate didn't include, but this is actually not the only instance I've heard recently of shocking discoveries that beloved family recipes, in some form, sat mass-printed on grocery store shelves across America. We romanticize what's been passed down and shared over generations because, for many of us, our childhood memories of simmering pots and comforting favorites are so key to our relationship with food today. But I have my own proof that nostalgia and love are the most important ingredients that make recipes so special.
Of course, let's not forget Phoebe's grandmother's chocolate chip cookies:
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My (Not-Secret) Oven Roasted Tomato Sauce
Makes enough for 6-8 servings of pasta
2 lb tomatoes, each cut in half (I used a mix from our CSA, but I've heard roma tomatoes recommended most often)
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 yellow onion, diced
salt and pepper
herbs - I use oregano and thyme
olive oil
Preheat oven to 400*F. Line a baking tray with foil. Place cut tomatoes on the tray in a single layer, drizzled with olive oil (1-2 T) and season generously with salt, pepper and herbs - it'll be something like 2-3 t of coarse salt, and 1-2 t of the herbs. Roast for 30 minutes and then add intervals of 10 minutes more as needed until the skins are splitting and the surfaces are caramelizing.
Meanwhile heat olive oil over medium heat in a large saucepan or dutch oven, then saute onion and garlic for 10-15 minutes or until translucent, seasoning with a pinch of salt and pepper. When the tomatoes are done roasting, add to the garlic and onions and stir together, cooking over low heat for 5-10 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings.
I like a chunkier sauce, but if you don't, run an immersion blender/food processor until you achieve the right texture (beware the sauce is molten tomato, so it'll be HOT if it splatters).
