Spaghetti alla Puttanesca

This is not a polite sauce. Puttanesca announces itself the moment the anchovies hit the hot oil: briny, pungent, unapologetic. The name refers to ladies of the night, though whether they invented it, ate it, or simply inspired its boldness depends on which Neapolitan you ask. No one agrees. Everyone has an opinion.

The sauce comes together in the time it takes to boil the pasta. This is its genius. Canned tomatoes, a handful of olives, a spoonful of capers, a few anchovy fillets, garlic, chili. Nothing more. The anchovies dissolve completely into the oil, leaving only their depth behind. If you can identify whole pieces of anchovy in the finished dish, you have done something wrong.

Puttanesca belongs to the dispensa, the Italian pantry tradition of cooking from what you have on the shelf. No fresh ingredients required beyond garlic and parsley. This is what you make at midnight when you are tired, hungry, and unwilling to leave the house. It rewards you far beyond the effort required.