Chunky Spaghetti Sauce

August. The city is at full summer now and the air has the thick quality that gets into everything and makes you glad the apartment has good cross ventilation and a fan in the bedroom window. Liam is seventeen months and August in Southie is the best possible environment for a seventeen-month-old because there's always a stoop, always a neighbor, always someone willing to let a toddler investigate their garden or their dog for a few minutes. He has become the social ambassador of this building without being asked.

The tomato plant has eight ripe ones this week—the summer has crested and now it's giving everything at once. I've been making bruschetta, caprese, tomato salad with red onion and basil, putting them in the pasta, eating them plain with salt over the sink. The fire escape tomatoes are better than any tomato I've bought this summer and I have the same feeling about them that my grandmother must have had about her garden in East Boston: the specific pride of something you grew from seed, that didn't ask permission from a supermarket.

Priya's last day on Friday. She brought pastries from the place in Watertown—the Persian bakery that does the almond-filled ones—and we ate them at the nursing station in the morning and then she packed her locker and said goodbye to the floor with the efficiency of someone who knows how to do a departure cleanly. She hugged me in the hallway. I read her inscription in the cookbook on Saturday morning. I'm keeping what she wrote to myself. Some things you keep.

After a week of bruschetta and caprese and tomatoes eaten plain over the sink, I finally turned the last of them into something that could sit on the stove and fill the apartment with that particular smell—garlic, basil, tomato going soft and sweet in olive oil—the kind of smell that makes a place feel inhabited and cared for. Priya was gone by then, her locker cleaned out, her handwriting already folded into a book on my shelf, and I needed something that required a little tending. This sauce is it: unhurried, chunky, made from things you actually grew.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 pound lean ground beef (optional; omit for vegetarian)
6 large ripe tomatoes, cored and roughly chopped (about 4 cups)
1 can (15 oz) crushed tomatoes
1 can (6 oz) tomato paste
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil (or a large handful of fresh, torn)
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 medium green bell pepper, diced
1 cup sliced white mushrooms
Cooked spaghetti, for serving

Instructions

Soften the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and bell pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 6–8 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Brown the meat. If using ground beef, push the vegetables to the side and add the beef. Cook, breaking it up with a spoon, until no pink remains, about 6 minutes. Drain excess fat if needed.
Build the sauce. Add the fresh chopped tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, and tomato paste. Stir to combine everything well.
Season. Stir in the sugar, oregano, basil, red pepper flakes, salt, and black pepper.
Add mushrooms. Stir in the sliced mushrooms. Bring the sauce to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to low.
Simmer. Cook uncovered over low heat, stirring occasionally, for 30–35 minutes until the sauce has thickened and the fresh tomatoes have fully broken down. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Serve. Ladle generously over cooked spaghetti. Top with fresh basil and grated Parmesan if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chunky Spaghetti Sauce — When the Fire Escape Tomatoes Give Everything at Once