Italians, especially in the south, take great pride in how they cook a ragu. This is the generic term for meat-based pasta sauces, and Bolognese is just one of these. And while the Italian gastronomic society lists 14 distinct varieties of ragu, in reality, there are an almost infinite number of variations.

When Napoleon invaded northern Italy in 1796, French culinary influence crossed the border with the conquering army. Ragu itself derives from the French stew called ‘ragout’ and was initially eaten on its own with bread. The first recorded use of ragu as a sauce to go with pasta is attributed to the Cardinal of Imola’s chef, Alberto Alvisi. The dish, known to posterity as the Cardinal’s Ragu, has influenced generations of chefs and housewives, enriching Italian cuisine in the process.

While Bolognese sauce is tomato-based, many ragus contain only meat. In fact, one variation I found in Turkey has minced meat cooked in yoghurt. Although Italy is a relatively small country, the cuisine varies from one valley to the next, making for enormous diversity. Partly, this rich variety is due to the fact that Italy was united into a single state only in the late 19th century.

Over the years, I have cooked many different kinds of ragus, using everything from minced meat to chopped venison. There was a time when I used roast duck that I stripped from the carcass to cook in a tomato-based sauce. Here is a recipe that has become a staple in our house. You will need:

One kilo of lean beef, roughly minced or even hand chopped; one large or two medium, finely chopped onions; three chopped celery stalks; one large sliced carrot; around six plump garlic cloves, finely sliced; a 14-ounce can of chopped tomatoes; two tablespoons of tomato paste; extra virgin olive oil; a few bay leaves; a cup of beef stock; a cup of red wine; salt and freshly ground black pepper. A scattering of parsley to garnish, and freshly grated Parmesan cheese to sprinkle on each serving.

Heat the oil in a heavy bottomed pan and throw in the onions, celery and carrots. Sautee until soft and then add garlic. Next, brown the meat until it has released its juices. Now add the wine, the chopped tomatoes, the tomato paste and the stock. Salt and pepper to taste, plus bay leaves. Be generous with the pepper. Let everything simmer quietly for a couple of hours after being brought to the boil, stirring occasionally. By now, the sauce should be nice and thick.

For the pasta, I prefer the ribbon-like tagliatelle or the wider papardelle. Bring a large container to a roiling boil, and gently place the pasta in the salted water. Check for doneness regularly after around six minutes: the pasta should be a’l dente, or just done. Drain, pour in a few spoonfuls of olive oil and then mix it well with the sauce. Serve in deep plates, sprinkle on a tablespoon of grated Parmesan and garnish with a few parsley leaves.

So far, so Italian. My personal take on this classic sauce is to throw in a can of anchovies at the very start, along with the onions. I also ginger up the dish with a teaspoon of crushed red chilli. I find these two ingredients lift the dish without changing its basic rich character. I know Italians will grumble at this desecration of a national treasure, but hey, it’s my palate I’m satisfying here.

Instead of the mince, you can opt to start out with a nice cut of steak and chop it into small cubes. Or you can decide not to use tomatoes at all and make a stew using a cheaper cut, and letting it cook slowly for a few hours until it is tender. See what I mean about endless variations?