I Thought of Uova Affogate
Poached eggs in tomato sauce. I felt grounded. Simplicity.
Mid-Spring and the skies were dipping and twisting. Cool and warm. Dry and wet. Intrusive. Caring not for its swings.
We sprang from the belly of the market onto the street. Rounding corners. Paying close attention to signs.
Those happy people in the window. Sipping their drinks. A good a place as any.
We ordered lunch. Beet salad. Gold and magenta with tender greens and goat cheese. Bread with crispy crust and tender crumb. Eggs with their quivering yolks lounging in a shallow pool of tomato sauce.
Very agreeable to me. As I sank back into the bench I noticed the crumbs that had landed on my lap.
The Summer is ending. My intentions stutter. I realize that I must go back to what I know.
I haven't posted a sauce in quite some time...
Finally a smile tapers from my lips. Uova Affogate. Poached eggs in tomato sauce.
When I see it. I know.
This is it.
I pull myself up. I dust myself off.
I haven't made it this way before, I think.
The sauce. Another sauce.
But when one has three cases (48 cans) of tomatoes, one needs to think fast before the shelf gives way under the weight.
I can think of nothing better.
I mill the tomatoes. I fill the base of the pan with a coat of olive oil. I finely chop the garlic and onion. I retrieve the tomato paste from the freezer. Several leaves of basil are harvested from the garden. Salt—check. Fresh milled black pepper—check. 4 eggs—as fresh as possible—check.
The thing is...
The red was a delight. Sweet and saucy. Clingy and tart. It paired perfectly with penne. Dashed with Parmesan. The crunch of the spring onion. Goodness. Perfection. If only you had been there, my friends.
And the hope was—well it wasn't—to fill our bellies with eggs with their quivering yolks lounging in a shallow pool of tomato sauce.
The remainder of the sauce stowed away. Another day. Maybe the next. Plenty to oblige when the time was right.
And then it landed elsewhere. On dough. Covered with cheese. How could it not?