As an avid tomato hater, I struggle with pasta sauces. Sure, a nice light little sauce I can manage, but most recipes call for tomato in some form to add body. And I won’t have any of that.
So the other night, I was making pasta with sausage, but was really struggling to figure out a proper sauce. I was all set for suppertime disappointment when inspiration struck.
I cut up a couple of sausages, sliced a red onion and a little fennel and cooked them in a pan for 30-40 minutes. I added a little olive oil at one point, since the sausages didn’t seem to be rendering much fat.
When it was all good and cooked, I added a tablespoon or so of flour to the pan and made a roux. Then I poured in maybe a glass and a half of white wine, a ladle or two of pasta water and let the whole thing simmer away for a few minutes, before tossing with the cooked pasta.
Which means yes, I essentially made pasta with sausage gravy. It was excellent – the sauce had a lovely silkiness that I thoroughly impressed myself with. But I can’t quite decide if I should be proud of this concoction or a little grossed out with myself.
Either way, I saw it as a fitting tribute to my mom, whose decades-long terror of gravy was definitely contagious. But I did it!