Sound Food's Thirty-fifth Reunion: Spaghetti Sauce

By the time I got to Woodstock it was 1974. In August 1969, the iconic event and transcendent moment that became “Woodstock” passed over my life in Sioux City, Iowa like a hurricane over a pothole. I read about the festival only after the dream was over and the spirit had moved on to become Altamont.

My personal Woodstock took place on Vashon Island in the summer of 1974 as Sound Food took shape and my long-time involvement with commercial food began. I regularly bought rice, bulgur wheat, and herbs from Michael Mead’s Minglement next to the bank in downtown Vashon. During one buying trip he asked, “Would you like a job at the new restaurant we’re opening in a few months?” (The “we” included Michael and six friends and acquaintances.) Frank Miller, one of the “we”, called me the next day and we set up a day for me to start. My previous food-for-hire experience consisted of a school-year stint at the elementary school lunch program and I jumped at the chance to do something that didn’t involve peanut butter, Jello, or fish sticks.

I spent that weekend reading up on Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Joy of Cooking, and my Time/Life series of ethnic food. I spent the first three days of my culinary career painting bar stools, then moved on to unpacking stacks of pantry items, kitchen equipment, and fresh produce. We—the braless, sandal-footed, loose-haired, apronless cooks—eventually chopped onions, diced tomatoes, sliced turkey breasts, simmered sauces and began the Sound Food adventure.

Our fearless leader, Jeffrey, radiated cool and exotic. He was slender and lithe with a Sikh-like beard and dressed in flowing white clothes. His tongue was as sharp as his knives and no culinary indiscretion went unnoticed. “Only careful attention to every detail will produce the desired effect”. We were to mince onions with care, peel garlic efficiently, simmer soups slowly, and bone chickens thoughtfully. Jeffrey introduced his staff to tofu, nori, steamed black cod, knobs of ginger, bulbs of garlic, daikon, a proper stir-fry, tamari, shiitake mushrooms, tempura, and the concept of serving fresh, regional ingredients. I was in heaven.

I started in the kitchen as a lunch cook. My friend (and one of the part/owners) Rae Anne and I manned the line—her with a Batchelor’s degree in Nutrition and me with three years of English Lit. It took us three weeks working lunches before we realized how much easier it would be to use the grill (not a wood-burning, Mario Batali grill, but an electric, pancake & egg, truck-stop grill) instead of a sauté pan to make hamburgers. The restaurant filled with hippy children, long-haired musicians, long-skirted waitron units, an incidental bluish cloud of smoke (who knew where that came from), laughter, live music, a few curious Spinnaker regulars, and an occasional straight local in for a good bowl of soup and a sideways glance at the freaks.

Our numbers were certainly not of Woodstock proportion, but there was the same good will, warmth, radiant spirit, and friendship. This charmed circle could grow a bit tight, however. One day a waitron friend came back into the kitchen, sighed and said, “I can’t do this anymore.” She had been waiting on an eight-top that included her soon-to-be-ex husband, his new girlfriend, the new girlfriend’s ex-husband, that ex-husbands new girl friend (who recently ended a relationship with the ex-husband's new girlfriend), and her new boyfriend (who was her ex-husband’s new girlfriend’s ex-husband). Everyone at the table had slept with everyone! My friend quit that day and took a job in the city baking cinnamon rolls.

Anyways, Sound Food introduced me to my real self. Frank Miller and Jeffrey Basom invited me in to a world of good food, hard work, controlled chaos, uncontrollable daily drama, and infinite rewards. I can’t thank them enough.

Jeffrey built this recipe for spaghetti sauce (which I still use) on the fly while boning fish, taking care of the baby, describing the night's specials, and talking to the Rykoff man. I lifted the addition of sun-dried tomatoes and Greek olive juice from another mentor.

Sauté onions, fennel seed, chili flakes, onion and garlic in hot olive oil (not too hot, don’t let the oil smoke)—first on high then when slightly brown, add salt and finish on lower heat until translucent.

Add sun-dried tomatoes, and herbs—sauté until mixture is soft and golden. Deglaze pan with 1 small glug of balsamic vinegar, add sugar.

Add tomatoes, tomato sauce, chicken stock and olive juice.

Whiz in Cuisinart or with hand blender slightly for nicer texture—but definitely not mandatory.

Simmer for 1 hour.

Great with pasta, meatballs, sausage sandwiches, eggplant Parmesan, lasagna, manicotti