Putain

Last night we had a pungent tomato sauce to go with our pasta. Earlier in the day there had been mention of the French word for prostitute putain and its ability to be slipped into any sentance without causing offense.

So the sauce seemed appropriate, it was a remembered recipe from an old Delia Smith TV series on summer food puttanesca sauce. A sauce with some fire in its belly, deep and pungent, for sorting you out late at night.

It was easy to make. Onions and fennel were cooked down in olive oil. Peppers and garlic were added. The whole lot was stirred as it was cooked on a high heat to stop it from sticking.

As it cooked I added some anchovies that had been stuck in the back of the fridge for the last six months, capers and chopped black olives. The house started to fill with a good smell.

I let all this cook until it started to mesh and then added a couple of bags of tomatoes. I stirred them in so that some of them had a chance to keep their shape.

The thick sauce was then left on the oven whilst we went to a party for the opening of Homebaked in Anfield. There can be few worthwhile things than the reopening an hundred year old bakery bringing good bread to people that matter.

We were at the bakery for just over an hour. Plenty of time to listen the band Silent Sleep who were very good.

 

We then came home and boiled a vast pan of water for the pasta whilst the sauce was reheated. The pasta then went into a wide flat white bowl and the sauce was slathered over. I got it right so there were still half tomatoes that had held their shape and which pulped in the mouth molten and full of flavour.

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