It seems unclear why a dish characteristic of Napoli should be called after a Ligurian port. Some say it’s because a Genovese sailor cooked it for some locals and the goodness of it was hailed throughout the hungry city. Others will tell you that Genovese is nothing more than a torturing of Ginevrina—of Geneva—hence giving a Swiss chef, one from the tribe of the Bourbons’ monzù, no doubt, credit for the sauce (page 84). The truth of its origins, adrift forever, holds less fascination, I think, than the patently simple recipe and the lovely, lush sort of texture the meat takes on from its long, slow dance in the pot.
Recipe information
Yield
serves 6
Ingredients
Preparation
Step 1
With a mezzaluna or a very sharp knife, mince the salt pork, salame, and prosciutto to a fine paste. In a terra-cotta or enameled cast-iron casserole—just large enough to hold the beef and its accessories—warm the olive oil over a medium flame and soften the paste in it.
Step 2
Pat the beef dry with absorbent paper towels and brown it in the fragrant fat, crusting it well on all sides—a process that takes at least 10 minutes. Remove the now deeply crusted beef to a holding plate.
Step 3
Add the onions, carrots, and celery to the pot, rolling them about in the fat, softening them without coloring them. Add the tomato puree, the sea salt, and the wine, stirring, scraping at the residue in the pan and letting the sauce simmer gently for 1 minute before returning the beef to the pot.
Step 4
Cover the casserole tightly and, over a low flame, braise the beef, its liquids barely simmering, for 2 1/2 hours.
Step 5
When the beef is fork-tender, it is properly cooked. Should it require longer braising, add a few tablespoonfuls more of wine, replace the lid, and let the whole continue to cook for 20 to 30 minutes more. Permit the dish a 1/2 hour’s repose. I would never think to strain the sauce of all the lush debris remaining from the aromatics, the salame, and the prosciutto. I suppose, though, a classic Swiss cook might think to improve it by straining it. I’d hope for his sake that he might spread the resultant paste on a heft of warm toast and eat it for his own private lunch. Should you wish to precede its presentation with pasta, see the instructions on page 71.
