Pasta with Marinara Sauce: Pure Simple Easy—and Perhaps the Best

As I write this, I’m eating supper, a second-night serving of fettuccine marinara, my favorite pasta sauce.
What is “marinara” anyway? It’s supposed to mean “of the sea,” but that only extends to its having been born in Naples, which is on the Bay of Naples.
In “Bugialli on Pasta,” the brilliant Florentine chef and cooking teacher Giuliano Bugialli writes, “Fundamentally, alla marinara simply means to add tomatoes to the basic olive oil and garlic, aglio e olio. This must have originated sometime in the nineteenth century, when ripe tomatoes came to play a dominant role in Neapolitan cooking…”
When Susan Lescher and I were sharing a New England kitchen, we often made this sauce. And so I have continued to make it for myself and a friend—or myself one night and myself the next.
There are only three essential ingredients: olive oil, garlic, tomatoes. There is a goodly amount of olive oil and this gives the sauce unctuousness. Don’t scrimp on it.
But. And.
Bugialli adds parsley…and I sneak in rosemary. But there is no real need for herbery. The Italian canned tomatoes I use (Lola) come with big thick leaves of basil, but basil isn’t essential.
Bugialli purees the tomatoes at the end. Feel free to do that, but I prefer texture—and I save a step.
This is a versatile base. Just before serving, Susan and I often stirred in a handful of pitted kalamata olives— gorgeous. Last night I added sliced and sautéed mushrooms. Capers are delicious, too.
When I was newly married, I was sent a hand-written recipe from a friend of my mother’s, Clemence Jandrey, the wife of Fritz (Frederick W.) Jandrey, who had been the U.S. Vice Counsel in Naples just before World War II. Clem’s recipe was for Neapolitan Marinara Sauce and across the top she wrote, "The Best!" All it was was a tin of plum tomatoes simmered till thick. Being in my twenties and teaching myself to cook, I found the idea absurd…how could this be anything but a lazy cook’s trick? I don’t think I even bothered to try it. Ah, the arrogance of the young. It amuses me that I am now the age Clem was when she sent me the recipe. What she knew that I did not was that long slow simmering of tomatoes sweetens and refines their flavor. I wish I could tell Clem that I've learned this since…
As for the shape of the pasta, Bugialli calls for vermicelli or perciatelli (spaghetti-like with a hole in the center). He notes, “Medium-thick, long pastas can be substituted one for another if you can’t find the specific one.”
As for portion size, my comfort-level serving is 2-1/2 ounces. I’ve heard the word “trencherman” used for the traditional 4-ounce serving.
I do like more sauce on my pasta than is customary for most Italians, so the amounts I’ll give serve half of what is traditional in Italy.
Which pasta brand is considered best? Not long ago I asked that question of my friend and mentor, Russ Parsons, and he reminded me of a story he wrote for the Los Angeles Times, October 2, 2002. The Times test kitchen cooked eight artisanal and three standard pastas in two-ounce batches, lightly dressed each with olive oil. Russ wrote, ‘When the brands were revealed, both of our favorites were made by Latini—the regular red-box brand and the Senatore Cappelli type made from an heirloom wheat variety. That Latini fared so well was no shock; it's the dried pasta of choice for most of the great Italian restaurants in this country…While the Latini pastas were the best in our tasting, we also liked the spaghetti from Rustichella d'Abruzzo, another artisanal Italian product, as well as from La Molisana and Barilla, Italian brands made in the U.S.”
Finally, Susan taught me to combine the sauce with the pasta and WAIT a few minutes to let the paste absorb the sauce, let the two marry. A subtle but crucial step.
You can make this much sauce to coat a pound of pasta in the Italian style, or double or triple the recipe for more pasta still. It could not be simpler.
PASTA ALLA MARINARA AFTER BUGIALLI—2 to 3 servings
½ cup fruity olive oil
6 to 8 large cloves garlic, peeled and coarsely chopped (although no harm done if you leave them whole)
20 large sprigs Italian parsley, leaves only, coarsely chopped, optional
Large sprig of fresh rosemary, chopped, optional
1 pound 12 ounce can of peeled whole plum tomatoes*, Italian, with basil leaves if possible
1 tablespoon coarse salt
8 ounces dried pasta, any shape, preferably Italian
Freshly ground pepper
Optional additions: generous ½ cup pitted kalamata olives…OR 8 ounces mushrooms, sliced and sautéed till golden…OR ¼ cup chopped Italian parsley leaves…OR ½ to ¾ teaspoon red pepper flakes
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese, to taste
In a large heavy skillet over medium heat, warm the olive oil, then add the garlic (and parsley and rosemary). Stir for a couple of minutes, then add the tomatoes. Chop up the tomatoes with the edge of a cooking spoon into smallish pieces. You’ll want it to simmer for about 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. The sauce is finished when thickened to the consistency you desire. Stir in added ingredients if you like to heat them up. Remove from the heat, cover, and wait for the pasta.
While the sauce simmers, set a large pot with at least 3 quarts cold water over high heat, cover and bring to a boil. When the water boils, stir in 1 tablespoon coarse salt, add the pasta, cover until the water returns to a boil, then boil uncovered, stirring often to keep pieces from sticking.
Generally, spaghettini cooks in 5 minutes, trenette in 6 to 7 minutes, and penne in 7 to 8 minutes, thicker cuts of pasta can take 9 to 12 minutes. Start tasting 2 minutes before the expected time. When a piece tests tender with just a tad of chewiness—past being gritty at the center—al dente, turn into a colander.
Shake the colander then turn the pasta into the sauce pan, grind over pepper to taste, and stir until blended. Cover and let the paste soak up the sauce for a few minutes. Serve in heated soup plates and pass freshly grated cheese.
Marinara sauce can certainly be prepared a day in advance and reheated.
NB: When I reheat this for myself the second serving, I moisten it with a thread of olive oil before I cover and zap.
*Of course you can buy canned tomatoes already chopped, but I’ve found the pieces tend to be mushier than the flesh of whole tomatoes, and if you chop them up yourself, you can suit your own esthetic.