My Favorite Tuscan Souvenir

When we were in Tuscany, a gal named Eleanora came round every evening to cook an amazing meal for us. She would prepare four- and five-course feasts that were always delightful, delicious and classically Tuscan. And I think Eleanora was only in her very early twenties. Her young age meant her talent in the kitchen was both raw and, quite likely, genetic.

Eleanora's roasted potatoes were scrummy. So was her chocolate torte. But Eleanora changed our lives with her garlic sauce.

When we first came into our Tuscan villa, we entered through the back door directly into the kitchen. We were greeted with a huge rustic country table loaded with breads, fresh fruit and cheeses. But a singular scent led us to the stovetop, where a tomato-based sauce simmered gently. Within minutes, we were boiling pasta and enjoying the best marinara sauce we'd ever tasted.

Later that evening, though, when we met Eleanora and complimented her on the marinara, she seemed confused. As she spoke little English, and we spoke little Italian, we expected things to be a little lost in translation. But surely marinara was marinara, right? Not so. Eleanora convinced us that the English phrase for her concoction was "garlic sauce." We could buy that -- garlic was a prominent flavor in the sauce. But there seemed to be so much more to it. I was sure that Eleanora's recipe used numerous ingredients and was complicated to make.

Not so, my friends. Eleanora's garlic sauce is brilliant in its simplicity. It's so simple even I can make it. And I did make some today. While prepping it, I got into a conversation about it with some friends on Twitter. Everyone was guessing as to ingredients and proportions, so I thought I'd take some pictures and share the secret.

WARNING: If you're one of those people who likes exact measurements and precise instructions, you will not like this recipe. Eleanora doesn't measure, so I don't measure. And the language barrier prevented her from sharing specific nuances of the dish. I learned it by watching her prepare it over and over (she made this sauce for us every day). I thought I'd never be able to replicate it, but you know what? I nailed it. It's that simple. So just roll with it, and make it to suit your tastes.

Another warning: Eleanora didn't use all fresh ingredients, so neither do I. When I asked why she didn't use fresh tomatoes, she looked at me like I was crazy and said "Oh, too much work!" If canned ingredients are good enough for her, they're good enough for me.

You'll need:

About 7 ounces of olive oil (I did it once with 8 -- too much. I then tried 6 -- too little.)

About a tablespoon of dried red chili pepper flakes (more or less, depending on your heat tolerance)

A pod of garlic. Yes, a pod. Not a clove. A pod. (It ain't called garlic sauce for nothing.)

About 3 ounces of tomato paste

A 28-ounce can of crushed tomatoes (I use crushed because I don't like things chunky. I'm sure chopped tomatoes would also work.)

Salt to taste

Start by heating the oil on low heat. Then chop/mince/crush the garlic. Whatever you prefer. I mince mine pretty fine because, again, I don't do chunky. Simmer the garlic and pepper flakes in the oil for a while. What's a while? When the garlic starts looking like it wants to turn brown, it's had enough. (I've found that overcooking the garlic sweetens the sauce too much for my taste.) It should look like this:

Then add the tomato paste. Eleanora used paste from a tube. I've used both tube and canned paste, and while I prefer the tube, there's not a huge difference.

Simmer it some more over that low heat until the paste breaks up and it looks like this:

Then add the large can of tomatoes. Throw a bit of salt in. Put a lid on it, and keep simmering and stirring from time to time. Eleanora let hers simmer on the stove for hours. I simmer mine for a couple of hours on a really low heat. (I have an electric, rather than a gas stove, so I like to keep the heat low so it doesn't get out of control.)

The finished product looks like this:

Look closely and you'll see that it's practically a swimming pool of olive oil. Eleanora insisted on using lots of oil, but hey, we were in Italy. I think you can cut back a wee bit. (However, all that oil does work wonders on chapped lips.)

How to serve the sauce? It's best eaten as the whole family hovers over the stovetop, fighting for elbow room, with a big crusty loaf of bread perfect for dipping straight in the pot. Hunk of bread in one hand, bottle of Vino Nobile de Montepulciano in the other.

The more civilized lot of you can drink it through a straw.

If you insist on being polite about it, toss it with some spaghetti.

However you serve it, I'm sure you'll love it. You can tell me grazie later. I'll pass on your thanks to Eleanora.