Vodka, for all my friends

For most of my adult life I've been wise enough to avoid the perils of vodka.
Until, of course, I went to Russia.
It was the summer of 2003, and Europe had been hit with one of the worst heat waves in its history.
Heat is definitely not what I would have associated with Russia, but night after sleepless night dripping with sweat made me more amenable to the shot glasses of vodka that were handed out as liberally as water during a two-hour marathon run (not that I run marathons).
Since Russia, I find myself enjoying the occasional Bloody Caesar (Canada's drink), a freshly shucked oyster floating in a vodka shot with fresh squeezed lemon, and that savoury pantry stable, a creamy vodka sauce for pasta.
And so I found myself celebrating my birthday and my sweetheart's (his is the day after mine -- ever the gentleman, he lets me go first) in Ottawa visiting with his delightful family.
There, in the heart of my dream kitchen -- which happens to be his aunt and uncle's kitchen -- we were awaiting guests to order in a Greek repast (this being a Friday night and who cooks on Fridays?) when my sweetheart's aunt announced the next night she would be making Penne Alla Vodka for (other) guests.
Now the first time I visited Craig's Aunt Karen, I found myself offering to make a stock out of the gorgeously plump turkey we'd all just enjoyed.
Putting on my very best Julia Child airs, I filled a slow cooker with onions, garlic, turkey remnants, celery, carrots, bay leaves, salt, pepper and eight cups of water with the goal of gifting Karen with a pot of liquid gold when she awoke in the morning.
Miraculously all went according to plan and a tradition appears to have been set: When I enter Karen's kitchen, I cook.
With gusto I volunteered to make the base for her vodka sauce, so that all Karen would have to do the next day when her guests arrived was to heat the base, add spices (I don't cook with chile peppers because of allergies), cream and shrimp.
I started by filling a stock pot with diced onion and garlic. The onion isn't classic to vodka pasta sauces but I rarely start any stock, stew or sauce without that classic aromatic.
Without measuring or following a recipe (who does anymore?) I added a generous amount of vodka straight from the bottle. I meant to splash about a cup into the pot but I suspect it ended up being closer to 2, what with all the exuberance of the birthday bash.
I threw in the single can of diced tomatoes Karen had sitting in her pantry and, knowing my ratios were off and wishing I had a second can, I improvised with a small can of tomato sauce. I added the classic roster of herbs -- basil, oregano -- salt, fresh pepper and let it simmer for hours.
There were plenty of volunteer tasters and the unanimous conclusion was that I'd been too generous with the vodka. Fine: Karen could correct the next day by running to the store to add more tomatoes (one can, to be precise) and the red chili peppers I no longer work with. To my chagrin, I forgot to recommend correcting the sauce with sugar -- a pinch to a teaspoon. It balances out the bitterness of tomato and vodka. Of course you add the cream only at the very end.
According to Karen all went well -- no one was food poisoned, at least.
A week later I find my thoughts turning to the vodka sauce, and my most favourite way in the world to make a tomato sauce, inspired by the Ace Bakery cookbook series.

The World's Best Tomato Sauce

Crowd a baking sheet with fresh plum tomatoes, cut in half (halved sides facing up). Season the tomatoes with sea salt, fresh ground pepper, a drizzle of olive oil, tamari (soy sauce) and good quality balsamic vinegar. Roast at 250 degrees Fahrenheit for 2-3 hours. I lay down a sheet of parchment paper to make clean up a breeze.

Once roasted, this pan of tomatoes can be used as a topping for crostini, pizzas, or a sandwich filling -- I do all three at the height of tomato season every summer.
But if you puree the roasted tomatoes in a food processor and add it to a vodka or red wine tomato sauce recipe, it is pure heaven and you will consider the regular canned tomato versions a fallback position forever more.
Just don't get too liberal with the vodka. Save some for the shot glass instead.