To the Editor:

A couple of weeks ago during a morning coffee session at the old Ketchum's, a friend mentioned he had learned a bit about our local hero, Timothy Murphy, during a recent drive through the Schoharie Valley.  I offered to share an unpublished letter I had written five years ago or so without effect and my case in support of Murphy was dismissed without prejudice.  His loss — not mine.

"Murphy's Winter Sauce" was the subject of my letter, which I again reviewed.  Since then, some things have changed; some not.  I lost my friend Paul just last week.  Dad passed away two years ago.  My friend Andrew is still in prison but the Schoharie Valley tomatoes are ripe.  It's time to make the sauce again so I'll finally share my tale:

Five years ago last fall was the last time I made tomato sauce with my zany Italian friend who unfortunately has gotten into serious trouble with the government.  Andrew has a passion for all things Italian especially every aspect of cooking.  His main kitchen — he had two — was equipped with a commercial range, restaurant scale utensils and equipment including the extra large pots we needed.

To purchase the tomatoes for our sauce project, I went direct to the source, driving over the mountain to the town of Fulton.  Generation after generation has continually farmed this fertile region since Colonial times.  Schoharie Valley had become known as the "Breadbasket of the American Revolution."

On my way, I went through the village of Middleburgh and passed by the town cemetery, the final resting place of the local and most celebrated Revolutionary War hero, Sergeant Timothy Murphy.

Murphy's life was incredible.  His story is best told in an article from The New American, "The American Rifleman in the Revolutionary War" by Rodger D. McGrath, published on Sept. 3, 2010.  If it were not for Timothy, the colonists might have lost the American Revolution.

Murphy made a profound contribution that made all the difference at the Battle of Saratoga — the pivotal turning point of our American Revolution.  Without Murphy, we might have lost both the battle and the war.

And so the old story of the long-ago life of Timothy Murphy is remembered and retold, inspiring an unlikely Italian-American joint venture with another Irishman to make tomato sauce — and it seems my family may be related as my mother's grandmother was also a Murphy from western Pennsylvania.

Coincidentally, the tomatoes bought from the Barber farm in Middleburgh were grown on lands of Murphy's home site along Route 30 in the heart of Schoharie Valley.

Andrew and I spent the next day processing the "Murphy" tomatoes.  We boiled them down and made our sauce.  We filled 50 or so small plastic containers and froze them all.  The overflow from my freezer ended up with my folks much to their consternation.

The following March, I drove my friend to Brattleboro, Vermont for sentencing on what the judge aptly referred to as "Judgment Day.”  Bail on appeal was denied.  After the proceeding they took off his belt and cuffed him in the courtroom.  Off he went for 188 months.  I returned that horrible day to Albany, alone, with no passenger and only an empty jacket.

That fall, I made our sauce by myself and filled the same containers but it was not much fun without my friend.  It had become a depressing project.  The next year I passed altogether but decided it would be OK and good therapy to grow tomatoes on my deck.  I could live with that.  Besides, I was tired of buying at the local supermarket half-spent foreign tomatoes imported from Mexico.

The first year didn't go as planned.  Only my one cherry tomato plant did well in the pots.  I decided the next year to grow only the small "Sweet 100s" and try a little basil, as I was inspired by my friend Ellie at Heldeberg Bluestone in East Berne who had a gorgeous plant she shared but I wanted my own.

The next summer was rainy and wet it seemed all the time.  Everywhere here in the wilderness, the tomato crop suffered greatly.  My vines withered and died — the basil plants as well.

Last spring, I decided to use larger pots and move the basil to a less sunny spot.  Summer was extremely hot and humid.  My stone projects suffered as I was not in attendance due to the heat.

But the tomatoes thrived! The heavily laden branches I tied and re-tied individually for support in an ever-ascending manner.  I took photos of the plants to celebrate success at last.  We had delicious tomatoes picked at the peak of ripeness throughout the season for salads and light summer sauces.  However, we faced late fall and winter without fresh tomato support….

On sale, I bought two cases of Hunts 26.5 oz. sauce for 50 cents a can.  Besides the low cost, an added benefit was only dry pantry storage was needed as opposed to more valuable limited freezer space.  My next move was to modify and improve the canned sauce.

After a bit of research and experimentation I can now confidently share my heretofore secret recipe for "Murphy's Winter Sauce.”  This sauce has a nice texture and rich flavors.  Quick and easy to make, it takes as much time is spent in preparation — doing the chopping — as the cooking.  Since the major ingredient is the sauce itself; the secret is in the inspiration.

The ingredients I use are:

— Three 26.5 ounce cans of Hunts Traditional Pasta Sauce;

— An overflowing small bowl of chopped onions;

— A small bowl of finely chopped carrots;

— A small bowl of finely chopped celery;

— Several chopped cloves of garlic;

— Several tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil;

— A cup of red wine; and

— Basil, oregano, red chili flakes, and pepper to taste — no need to add salt or sugar.

Directions:

Add several tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil to a large pot and then add onions and garlic.  Sauté over medium heat and the add carrots and celery. Continue cooking until the vegetables soften slightly. Add Hunts sauce, wine, and herbs.  Bring to a gentle boil. Then simmer a little.  Viola!

Usually, I make real simple meatballs:

Combine three-quarters of a pound of 80-percent ground beef with at least one egg and a chopped medium onion, a cup of breadcrumbs, some pepper, and oregano. Form into 12 to 14 small meatballs and bake at 325 degrees in a shallow pan for half of an hour or so until brown on bottom and then turn.

When my folks return home in the spring, I plan to surprise them with my Dad's favorite meal: spaghetti and meatballs.  After the requisite gin and tonics, I'll pour the wine and put on some Clancy Brothers music.

By candlelight, I'll serve the pasta with my "homemade" sauce.  Then I'll tell them the tale of Timothy Murphy and how their dinner came to be.

Ed Cowley

Altamont