Stir the onions and garlic into the pot. Reduce the heat to low and cook until the onions begin to soften and lose their shape, about 5 minutes. Stir in the wine, scraping the bottom of the pot clean. Add the tomato paste. Pour ? cup of the warm water into the can to loosen any residual paste and then pour the water into the pot. Cook to warm the paste through, about 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes along with the remaining 1 cup warm water. Stir in the basil and oregano. Cover with the lid slightly askew and simmer to sweeten the tomatoes, about 30 minutes.
Return the meat to the pot along with any juices that have accumulated in the bowl. Cover with the lid slightly askew and simmer, stirring frequently, until the meat is very tender and the tomatoes are cooked, about 2 hours. Warm water may be added to the sauce, in ?-cup portions, if the sauce becomes too thick. （If you have made meatballs, they may be added during the last half hour of cooking. The meatballs will soften and absorb some of the sauce.）
* * *
Since expressing those peeves of mine regarding pasta shapes and what sauces they should be coupled with was so satisfying, I am inclined to confess my feelings about another, even more egregious culinary crime that I have witnessed from time to time. It is the act… （I feel my blood pressure rising as I type. Jesus. I hope I make it through this without having a mini stroke or worse）… the act… （Fuck, I’m starting to sweat）… the act… （Breathe, breathe）… of a full-grown adult… cutting their spaghetti!!!!!!!
When I am privy to this act of sacrilege, in that instant, no matter how charming, intelligent, kind, or altruistic the perpetrator is, some of me will hate most of them forever. I will stare, aghast, and sigh, knowing that there is nothing for it. As David Mamet wrote in his great play American Buffalo, “The only way to teach these people is to kill them.”
However… breaking dry spaghetti, then cooking it and using it for certain recipes is welcomed.
Why?
I have no answer for you except, as I say to my children, “because I said so.” （Or really, it’s what my grandmother did and it worked, so I do it.）
Try the following recipe and you will see what I mean. It is my derivation of a recipe I grew up with. I often make a big pot and eat it over a few days for lunch at home or bring it to film sets as an antidote to the usually horrid food served off a truck to cast and crew by beleaguered caterers.
Spaghetti with Lentils
— SERVES 4 —
? carrot, finely chopped
? onion, finely chopped
? stalk celery, finely chopped
? garlic clove, sliced
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1 cup dried brown lentils, rinsed and picked over
? pound spaghetti
1 ? cups salsa marinara
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
In a medium or large saucepan （all the ingredients, including the pasta, will end up in this saucepan, so make sure it is large enough）， sauté the carrot, onion, celery, and garlic in the olive oil over medium-low heat until they are soft, about 7 minutes.
Place the lentils in another medium saucepan. Fill the pan with cold water to a level 1 inch above the lentils. Slowly bring to a simmer and cook until the lentils are just tender, about 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside.
To break the spaghetti, lay out a clean dish towel, wrap the spaghetti in it, and fold over the ends of the towel. Roll, squeeze, and/or bend this bundle until you can feel the spaghetti has broken down into 1-to 1 ?-inch pieces. Place the bundle over a large bowl and unfurl, thus emptying it of all the bits of spaghetti.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the spaghetti until al dente.
Reserve ? cup of the cooking water before draining the pasta.
Meanwhile, drain the lentils and transfer them to the saucepan with the sautéed vegetables. Add the salsa marinara. Bring to a simmer, cover, and cook until the lentils have blended with the sauce, about 10 minutes. Add the drained pasta, along with the reserved pasta water to make a liquid consistency. Season with salt and pepper as desired. Simmer the pasta and sauce together to allow the flavors to combine, about 3 minutes. Serve immediately.
I?Regarding the meatball, I would say that the key to a great one is good ground beef with a fair amount of fat, mixed with an almost one-to-one meat/bread ratio. The bread should be stale Italian or French white, crusts removed, soaked in water, and strained. Meatballs should actually be renamed “meat-bread balls” or “breatballs”—or something like that but not as stupid—as the proper ratio of both ingredients is the key to their success according to this palate.