You likely know the name Marcella Hazan. Perhaps you’ve sampled recipes from the late Italian cook’s seven best-selling books, which are credited with teaching America how to prepare authentic, classic, and delicious Italian dishes. Her famously spare recipe for tomato sauce consists of one onion cut in half, canned tomatoes, a generous knob of butter and salt, all melded together in a pan (and served with shredded basil as an optional garnish). The sauce transforms ordinary pasta into pure, unctuous perfection. Dubbed simply “Tomato Sauce III,” the recipe helped novice cooks the world over trust Hazan and her practicality, purpose and lack of pretension.  

Hazan was also a mentor and inspiration to a generation of celebrated chefs including TV personality, restaurateur and book author Lidia Bastianich and even Julia Child. Well-known entertainers like Danny Kaye, Burt Lancaster and Joel Grey were among those Hazan introduced to her food shopping and cooking techniques. 

And she had a deep local connection. In 1999, she moved to Longboat Key from Venice, Italy, with her equally talented and devoted husband, Victor. They came because their son Giuliano, an accomplished cooking teacher and author in his own right, had moved here, and because Marcella, who suffered from emphysema, had difficulty navigating Venice's many stairs and chilly winters. She died here in September 2013 at the age of 89. Today, Giuliano carries on his mother’s renowned traditions on-site in Tuscany, Veneto and here in Sarasota.

Now, Hazan having a moment in the spotlight again (if she ever really left).

On May 9, Marcella, a documentary about Hazan, will open nationally in theaters, with simultaneous release via video on demand. By this summer, the picture will also be offered on the PBS “American Masters” series. Local audiences may have already seen Marcella when it was featured at the Sarasota Film Festival in April. It was an audience favorite, shown twice to meet demand. 

The renewed attention on her legacy makes me recall a February afternoon, 25 years ago, when I was lucky enough to take the doyenne of Italian cookery to lunch for a print interview in the Sarasota Herald-Tribune’s Style magazine. 

Hazan did not drive. She asked me to pick her up at the Longboat Key condo she shared with Victor, to whom she’d been married since 1955 and who translated each of her celebrated books from Italian into lyrical English. I was not invited upstairs to view their much-admired custom kitchen, which I was dying to see. But my lunch guest, a highly educated chemist and biologist in Italy who planned to become a teacher before she learned to cook for Victor’s pleasure, had a reputation for bluntness. I was nervous about saying something stupid or asking a question she may have heard too many times before. I could sense that she was not going to be warm and fuzzy, or encourage attempts at ingratiation. 

Hazan had a particular physical weakness that people mistakenly attributed to a stroke. Her right hand was underdeveloped and permanently bent, the result of a bad break when she was a child. The injury was never properly set and treated, so even after multiple surgeries, she never had full use of her hand. That limitation did not impact her cooking, however. And once she moved to New York and began focusing on food in her new life with Victor—first the Chinese dishes they both loved, then sentimental Italian fare—there was no more thought of teaching science. 

Yet instruction was her gift. Hazan was persuaded to offer cooking classes for American wives in her Manhattan apartment, and by 1970, those lessons came to the attention of New York Times food editor Craig Claiborne. Three years later, Hazan published her first book, The Classic Italian Cookbook: The art of Italian Cooking and the Italian Art of Eating, featuring the regional cuisines of Emilia-Romagna and Tuscany.

For our lunch interview, Hazan chose Mediterraneo in downtown Sarasota. The moment we walked in, it was clear I was escorting a star patron into her comfort zone. The entire staff scurried about, chatting away in brisk Italian, anticipating their honored diner’s desires. A glass of Jack Daniels and an ashtray materialized instantly, and Hazan lit the first of many cigarettes. I'd read about her affection for smoking and whiskey but was surprised to see her enjoying both with such gusto at lunch. I wanted to ask if that naughty combination affected her famously refined palate in any detrimental way, but didn’t dare.

In no time, Hazan's entrée emerged from the kitchen—a gargantuan, perfectly breaded veal cutlet that hung over the plate. Where the heck did the chef keep it, since he didn’t know that we were coming? Was it frozen and somehow instantly thawed and pan fried to a crispy state of nirvana? Did they run out to a gourmet butcher and buy that huge slab of meat on the spot? I never found out.

Hazan told me she had a hard time grocery shopping on Longboat Key. There were no fresh markets offering the abundant fruits, vegetables and just-caught fish of her beloved Mercati di Rialto along the Grand Canal in Venice, where she and Victor and her cooking students used to visit daily. Her produce man at Publix couldn’t procure Jerusalem artichokes, and the fish on offer were generally too big and the veal shanks too small. There was no Whole Foods in town yet.

Americans eat both too much and not well, Hazan thought. She may have introduced us to the life-enhancing flavor profile of balsamic vinegar, but she did not approve of using it as the only acid in a salad dressing. Similarly, she said, one should never waste a magnificently fruity and peppery cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil by dipping hunks of bread in it. Parmigiano Reggiano cheese should never, ever come out of a can—it will look and taste like sawdust—and green beans should not be served al dente, which makes them taste like grass. 

When the bill arrived, I was shocked to see it totaled more than $60 before tax and tip. I remember this well because it was the year 2000 and that check represented a huge chunk of my writer’s fee. Hazan left behind more than half of her veal cutlet, untouched. I was dying to ask permission to take it home and finish it for dinner. 

After lunch, I drove us to Yoder’s, the charming Amish produce stand in Sarasota’s Pinecraft neighborhood, then a tiny open-air market at the corner of Bahia Vista Street and Kaufman Avenue. I wanted Hazan to experience the old-fashioned, hand-built display of fruits and vegetables brought in from Florida farms and, perhaps, meet an Amish farmer. Happily, Matthew, a tall, lanky young man from Ohio was filling the produce bins and stopped to talk. Matthew was a delight, dressed right out of Hollywood central casting in his denim overalls and straw hat, under which hung a thick fringe of bowl-cut hair. He had no idea who Marcella Hazan was, but it didn’t matter. They chatted about the merits of the juicy red tomatoes that Hazan referred to as Roma and Matthew called plum. I couldn’t hear much of their conversation, but I could tell that Hazan was happy. 

We drove back to Longboat Key, and I returned my companion to her condo building. I lingered in the car for a moment, hoping to be asked to come up and see that kitchen, which is now part of a Smithsonian Museum exhibit in Washington, D.C. Instead, we said our goodbyes. I secretly wished that there would be another opportunity for a food-centric rendezvous; another chance to be face-to-face with the formidable and fascinating diva of Italian gastronomy. Unfortunately, that day was my one-and-only culinary adventure with Marcella. Grazie mille.

Recipe: Marcella Hazan’s Fish in Crazy Water (Pesce all'acqua pazza)

Originally published in Food & Wine magazine’s October 1997 issue, this dish is surprisingly easy but bold in flavor. (And yes, the fish is poached in water.)

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs. ripe tomatoes, coarsely chopped, juices reserved

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

3 large garlic cloves, very thinly sliced

2 Tbsp. minced parsley

1/8 tsp. chopped fresh red chile, or more to taste

Salt

4 cups water

4 6-oz. red snapper fillets, skin on

4 slices grilled sourdough bread

Directions

In a deep skillet large enough for the fish fillets to lie flat without overlapping, combine the tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, parsley, chile, a large pinch of salt and the water. Cover the skillet and bring the water to a steady simmer over moderate heat. Simmer for 45 minutes.

Uncover the skillet and boil the liquid until it has reduced by half. Add the fish, skin side up, and cook for 2 minutes. Using two spatulas, gently turn the fillets. Season the fish with salt and simmer until just cooked through.

Place the grilled bread in shallow bowls and arrange the snapper fillets on top. Spoon the broth all around and serve.