“Have you ever been to Bologna? Oh, I take you there someday. You will love this place. Bologna is sad, a little. The city is old… but the food! They make there a dish called Lasagna Bolognese. You can’t believe how good this is. When my uncle, at his restaurant, makes this, you eat and then you go, ‘Oooh!’ And you kill yourself; you have to kill yourself because after you eat this [it’s so delicious] you can’t live!” — from the movie Big Night.
Lasagna is hard to really screw up. Even if it’s not that great, it’s still pretty good. I mean, how can you lose? We’re talking pasta, sauce and cheese. The noodles may be overcooked and the cheese might be cottage, but it’s almost always edible.
When I first made lasagna, I used a recipe that called for a tomato sauce to which was added previously cooked and crumbled meatballs and sausage. Four cheeses — Parmesan, mozzarella, ricotta and something called “white American” — were included, as well as a cup and a half of butter. It was a marathon; something I made only a few times, and the best lasagna I’d ever had. But I didn’t know that that lasagna was Italian-American, something that would never be made in Italy.
Italian-American lasagna is inarguably delicious. But the hearty, rustic preparation most Americans know is a far cry from classic Lasagna Bolognese. It’s simpler, even elegant — though still a special occasion indulgence. Its basis is the meat sauce that the city of Bologna claims as its own. It’s truly a meat sauce rather than a tomato sauce with meat. Combinations of various chopped and ground meats are simmered slowly, absorbing gradual additions of wine and milk. Just a bit of tomato is added at the end; the sauce is typically pale pink and incredibly unctuous.
It doesn’t include multiple cheeses either, especially ricotta. Instead it calls for besciamella, a sauce of milk thickened with flour and butter that’s known in France as béchamel and in English as white sauce.
There are many different and delicious kinds of lasagna. But the original lasagna, Lasagna Bolognese, is in a class of its own: a revelation of flavor and simplicity.
