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The Taste Test: Paul Sorvino Gets Sauced
On February 26, 2010 at 3:46 PM

There's a prison scene in Scorsese's Goodfellas about midway through the film, in which we get a close-up of a garlic clove as a Sinatra ballad unspools in the background. Turns out the wise guys on the inside, exempted from the hard-time indignities of other convicts, are free to prepare a feast of rib eyes steaks and lobsters. But the key to the meal is the prep work—that garlic clove held firmly but tenderly beneath sausage-thick fingers, and shaved to whispers with a razor blade.

The paws belong to Paulie, played by Paul Sorvino, and the man has got a system. With the delicacy of a diamond cutter, Paulie slices the garlic so transparently thin that it liquefies in the pan. It's a time-consuming process, but the scent practically leaps off the celluloid, confirming that prison, as all adolescent boys once suspected, rules.

For two decades the Sorvino method of garlic slicing has lain dormant in our collective pop culture consciousness, written off as a romantic musing of Marty Scorcese. And then last year, Paul Sorvino and his mythic meat hooks rolled out a line of authentic Neapolitan pasta sauces. When the sauces showed up at our offices last week, I was badly in need of a Trader Joe's run, and immediately offered my Brooklyn kitchenette as test kitchen (grazie, Paul). So, when quitting time came that day, I hurried home, changed into my classiest blue bathrobe, and heated a pot of salted water to a boil. How did Sorvino's sauces measure up?

Unlike the Goodfellas dinner there would be no steak or lobster for a second course—this was Brooklyn, not prison—but the sauces were pretty damn good. The Vodka Sauce was smooth and rich, and the pecorino Romano added a saltiness that nicely cut the heavy cream and butter. As for the Marinara, this testimonial from David Nickerson in Hull, Massachusetts says it all: "Paul, Had to write and say this is the best Marinara in a jar I've ever had. I also enjoy your acting."

And then, lost inside a Wiseguy fantasy, I bit into a chunk of garlic. My mouth hung open—the un-liquefied clove clung to my lip. What was this doing here? Who would sabotage the sauce of Paul Sorvino? Looking down at my plate, I saw that there were chunks of garlic everywhere. A quick Google search uncovered this 30-second spot for Sorvino's Marinara and I watched in slack-jawed horror as Sorvino himself cut garlic into thick slices. What did he think he was making, the "egg noodles and ketchup" that Ray Liotta lives on in witness protection? While Mr. Sorvino's sauces earned him passing marks, they come with a side of disillusionment—I'll never trust a Hollywood-spawned food product again. At least until the Cornballer hits the shelves at Gristede's.

— Rafi Kohan