I got the recipe for this dish from Nora Ephron's 1983 "novel" Heartburn, about a marriage gone awry in the midst of food and eating. I put quotes around "novel," because the book was a thinly disguised bonk on the head to Ephron's philandering then-husband, Watergate journalist Carl Bernstein. Oh, yeah, he's a horndog. I ran into him in the lobby of a trendy, upscale Los Angeles hotel some years ago, and his eyes went straight to my chestal region.
Anyway, Ephron did what I thought was very unusual at the time in her book. She interspersed recipes with her narrative.
But would they be fictional recipes? Did I dare to attempt one, or was she just taking poetic license?
I dared. It was great, and the easiest thing ever.
I can't give you the exact recipe, because somebody made off with my copy of the book, but it's so intuitive, you can just wing it.
Chop up some juicy, ripe tomatoes. A lot. Add minced garlic. A lot. Throw in torn-up basil leaves, as much as you like. Drown this in good olive oil, with some salt and pepper. Leave the whole mess out on the kitchen counter for a good few hours, while the summer temperatures help macerate it all into a no-cook sauce for pasta.
Slop it on the cooked pasta and give it a dusting of grated parmesan cheese. (It will not be a piping hot meal. That's the point.)
It's best with spaghetti, I confess. And it looks much better with spaghetti.
But (sigh) we dumped some over ziti and it was still very tasty.