and acidity tomatoes bring to the mix, though I can do
without big chunks in the finished dish. I start by making a
basic marinara sauce, which I puree until completely smooth
so that it can fade into the meat as it simmers.
For the wine, either red or white works equally well—it’s
surprising how similar they taste after they’ve been
simmered for a couple hours—as long as the wine is dry and
unoaked. The only important thing is to make sure to reduce
it before adding your other liquids (see “Do I Really Need to
Reduce My Wine?” below). Low-sodium chicken stock
makes up most of the rest of the liquid, along with some
milk and cream—two more controversial ingredients. While
very old recipes for Bolognese ragù seem to be dairy-free,
nearly every modern version I’ve seen contains milk in
some form, and I like what it does for the texture and
richness of the final dish. Speaking of texture, here’s
another trick: a packet of gelatin dissolved in the chicken
stock adds even more body to your sauce.
Reduce, Reduce, Reduce!
Once all of the ingredients have made their way into the pot,
the only thing left to do is to simmer it all down. This is a
magical, wonderful, and occasionally harrowing process.
The smells that fill your home will draw neighbors from
miles around as the wine reduces, meat tenderizes, and
vegetables melt into the background. But watching what the
ragù does as it reduces might trouble you: it starts off wet
and creamy and then, as it heat ups, the abundant fat from
the meat, butter, and cream break out, forming a crimson
slick on the surface of the simmering liquid. The slick will