I remember when the basil grew beneath the tomato vines. With the slightest passing breeze, the anxious, peppery-green sprouts of basil would tickle the downturned blossoms of the vines, teasing out their pollen in a minute shower over the soil. During the crisp early morning, it was a pleasure to visit the garden where the air was replete with the metallic smell of sunshine and bliss as the sun stirred the morning dew upon those delicate, cherubic tomato buds. As for the lazy summer afternoon, when there was little more to do than count the number of tendrils and minute hairs swaying upon the vines, mother-basil would stir a tempest by tempting the worker bees with her flamboyant bunch of flowering seeds.
As a boy, I never understood why my grandmother went to such painstaking lengths to buy her Roma tomatoes from selected suppliers in embarrasing bulk quantity (somewhere along the lines of 30 kilograms during the winter time), nor did I understand the esoteric methods she frequented for flavour-extraction and preservation. It all seemed a little bit too ”ethnic” to me and I dared not let my friends know that this was our Sunday pastime. At the time, I felt that the procedure of making passata from fresh tomatoes was a silly and archaic practice, where often overripe bulbs were manually processed through a table-mounted mechanical pulper, cooked for hours over low heat and stored in ridiculously hot jars. Nowadays in my mind, I appreciate that there is a particular and very unique taste associated with only the pampered tomato afforded the right care; only with the right dousing of water, the correct spread of fertiliser and the secret elements of love and care.
It makes sense to me only now that the best passata comes by following the traditional methods and the deliberate search for only the best local produce. It is my pleasure to share with you all that I have learned.
It would be great if only we had such a creation as a split identity – a new dimension to ourselves that interacts with the world and which does the chores you’d rather maintain a distance of a 50-metre pole. But the reality is that you’re strapped for time, strapped for money, stressed out and pulling your hair out. It’s cold outside and your toes are poking through your last pair of socks – yes, those socks; the ones which came wrapped up nicely with a ribbon for your seventeenth birthday. Your stomach grows. Your fridge door is hanging off its hinges full of jars and bottles; mucky milk, mouldy mustard, rancid relish, putrid pesto. Perhaps the only “gourmet” ingredient you’ve seen in weeks is a tin of eerie brown coloured caviar. Perhaps, by the time you reached the end of this list of disgusting fridge contaminants, you’re on the floor laughing, rolling around in stitches.
But I can assure you that being in dire straits has happened to you more times than you’re comfortable to admit. The true art in cooking, in my opinion, is inventiveness with the ingredients on hand – the ability to create an indispensable number of dishes from similar bases. Thankfully, there’s a solution to your winter woes that doesn’t involve taking out a second mortgage on the house or selling that briefcase full of unused Dinky Toy cars. Read on to hear more about one of the best kept secrets of the Mediterranean coast.
A gently simmering, slow-cooking sauce sitting upon the stove. What a mouthful!
May I take this opportunity firstly to welcome you to Wild Thyme and Sweet Pea, and encourage you to explore the skeleton of the digest that will slowly flourish in time to come. I have made many friends in the cyber dimension of culinary trades and of all those well wishes and encouragement offered in mutuality, the doors of this blog have opened to all who are curious and inclined to the kitchen. A big thanks to Jasmin for her tireless efforts in the behind-the-scenes code wrangling and infinite patience with my hot-blooded passions. Please enjoy and don’t hesitate to contact me should you wish to share a few fond words.
-Matt, author, cook and content editor
There’s an epic tale to be told of the generations of family who have enjoyed this recipe of a hearty tomato sauce, which wields the power of command over an army of starving family members, following their noses as it leads them to the dinner table. Grandparents on both sides of my family have revealed to me their variation on this Italian staple, which I picked through observational learning and practise, employing the same tactics and dedication to fresh resources and a douse of patience that makes every attempt a success…
The Wild Thyme and Sweet Pea project found its roots when it was plucked excitedly from the garden, washed briskly in a basin of water and lovingly left out to dry in a soothing marinade of vision and ambition ... More »
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