Many feel that Bologna is the culinary capital of Italy, and therefore, the culinary capital of the world.
Bologna is a funky, vibrant town with a Vespa in every household and an osteria at every turn. It has centuries old architecture, miles of arcade-lined sidewalks, and an impassioned citizenry who love life and excel in food.
About midway through my first meal in town, I pulled out my calendar and tried to figure out how I could squeeze in another few days in Bologna later in the year. It was about halfway through his first street-side gelato that my son considered a permanent move.
The people of Bologna live their lives with passion. It’s in the food, it’s in the table chatter, and it’s on the street— passion. I love that.
In Bologna, we never ate in a restaurant that had been open less than 35 years. It wasn’t the plan, it just happened that way. The average tenure for an American independent restaurant is less than four years, and 90% are closed after five years. Here in a town that knows and loves food, most places are staying open for decades. It’s the passion.
While in Bologna, I arranged to film and prepare Bolognese Tagliatelle with a Bolognese chef in his kitchen. We filmed the segment and everything went well, everything except that the cameraperson— my wife— forgot to turn on the video camera.
Italians typically use wide flat noodles such as tagliatelle or pappardelle with meat sauce. Tomato is a secondary component to the meat. In America we typically flip that and we use spaghetti while the tomato sauce is prominent.
This recipe is a happy medium between the two— less tomato and spaghetti.
Ingredients
1 lb. Dry spaghetti
1 gallon Water
¼ cup Kosher salt
1 ½ cups Marinara (recipe xxx)
2 Tbl Reserved pasta water
4 cups Bolognese (about ½ cup per person)
Grated Parmigianino Reggiano as needed
Instructions
Cook spaghetti using the directions on the package.
Heat Bolognese in a 2 quart sauce pot and hold hot. Separately, heat marinara in a 1 quart sauce pot over medium heat, stirring frequently, about 6-8 minutes. Transfer to a large mixing bowl and add reserved pasta water and hot spaghetti and combine thoroughly.
There's nothing like a well-roasted turkey to anchor a holiday table, and no one made it quite like my grandmother. She didn't wait until Thanksgiving to serve it. She'd roast a turkey once a month throughout the year, never mind the occasion. It was a staple at her table.
My mother, on the other hand, always made a formal Christmas Eve dinner, complete with turkey, dressing, and gravy. As kids, the excitement of Christmas Eve was almost too much to bear. Those big dinners felt like the beginning of Christmas itself. It’s a memory that comes to mind every time I cook a turkey or make gravy. And a good gravy can make or break the meal. Making sure the roux browns just right and finishing the gravy with a touch of lemon juice or fresh herbs are tricks worth remembering. A little extra attention to the gravy goes a long way.
I can lay waste to a block of cream cheese with pepper jelly and crackers in a matter of minutes. It’s a weakness. No matter how hard I try to exercise self-control, I always find myself standing over the plate at a cocktail party, making it disappear without even thinking. This spread hits the same notes, but with a smoky, savory punch that’s hard to beat. It’s become a go-to for Christmas parties, and if you’re smart, you’ll double the recipe because it’ll be gone before you know it. It’s best when made a day in advance—giving all the flavors time to mingle.
My brother Drew and I were always wound up on Christmas Eve. He was four years older, but you’d never know it by how excited we both were. He’d be bouncing off the walls, too keyed up to sleep, while I’d follow his lead like I always did. When we finally did drift off, it wouldn’t be long before he’d shake me awake before dawn, eyes shining like he hadn’t slept a wink. Those early mornings felt like magic. Now, Christmas means he’s usually out duck hunting in the Delta, his favorite place on earth. He loves the hunt and the calm that comes with being out in the field before the sun rises. I thought of him when I put together this recipe. It’s a little bit of Drew—those wild December mornings in the Delta and the quiet way he’s always looked out for me.