This sauce has a proper origin story. On a trip to New York City, the concierge pointed us to a restaurant called Mercato — the tiniest hole-in-the-wall I have ever eaten in, dark-lit, with as many little tables crammed inside as physics would allow. I ordered the lasagna. Daniel ordered the raviolis in a butter sage sauce, and he hasn’t fully stopped talking about them since.

And here’s the thing: we grow sage in our garden. So we did what we always do with something we love — came home and started experimenting. Full disclosure: the night we finally cracked it, we made it twice, because the first batch ended up so salty it never made it to the table. The recipe below includes the lesson.

Butter and sage first

Start with a good chunk of butter and a handful of fresh sage leaves in a pan over medium heat. How much butter? We’ve honestly never measured it — this is a by-feel sauce, and it forgives. As the butter melts and starts to foam, the sage crisps and perfumes the whole thing — your kitchen will smell like that little restaurant in New York.

Let the butter go a little past melted — when the foam starts turning golden at the edges, the milk solids are toasting, and that nutty, browned-butter depth is what makes this taste like more than the sum of its parts.

Then the cream

Pour in the cream and stir it into the sage butter, and watch the whole pan turn pale and silky. Let it simmer gently — it thickens as it bubbles.

Now, the hard-won lesson: season lightly, at the very end, tasting as you go. The parmesan on top of your pasta brings salt of its own, and cream concentrates as it reduces. Ask us how we know. Ask the first batch, may it rest in peace.

Serve it immediately

This sauce waits for no one. Toss it with fresh raviolis straight from the pot, spoon a little extra over the top, and get it to the table while it’s glossy. It’s also wonderful over store-bought pasta, gnocchi, or chicken — but the raviolis are the house rule. Leftover sauce is a rumor we’ve never been able to confirm.