Mom’s Spaghetti

Spaghetti: The Illusive Ideal

“Spaghetti” means different things to different people. I feel like it is a meal that seeps into your soul and stains your memory and leaves permanent expectations.

Not unlike what it does to Tupperware.

Somehow it’s personal, spaghetti is.

Have you ever been to a friend’s house as a kid and found, to your dismay, that they have their own definition of “spaghetti dinner” ? It’s disorienting.

And there are versions of spaghetti that many know, but that few asked for. Public school cafeteria spaghetti, for example; made in bulk in huge stainless-steel vats, set to soak in its own juices until it’s nearly a casserole.

And though I doubt that’s what anyone is dreaming of on a Tuesday night, there are yet other versions that, while pleasant, just don’t hit home. A pasta marinara and meatballs from a fancy Italian restaurant is good, but it doesn’t touch my soul.

Maybe I’m being dogmatic about this, but for me, mom’s spaghetti, my mom’s spaghetti, is the only kind I know to be the true and right standard for all spaghetti, whether or not it scarcely resembled any Italian origins.

Mom’s Spaghetti

Mom’s spaghetti is not thick or sweet, nor thin and weak. The meat is never rolled into allotted balls and the pasta was never pencil thick nor short, nor overcooked.

No, mom’s spaghetti is delicately textured, with all the familiar flavors of comfort. It was a melody of finely chopped and diced vegetables with lean, browned hamburger (venison or beef), slowly simmered in tomatoes and well seasoned with dried herbs… all ladled over a plate of fine, al dente, angel hair pasta.

When I was a kid, mom’s spaghetti was served with a sliced ‘light bread’ from Winn Dixie, smeared with butter and sprinkled with garlic powder and toasted under the broiler, always a little burnt, with a small plastic cup of sweet tea.

These days a slice of buttered sourdough, a salad with homemade ranch dressing and a splash of balsamic, or green beans might all be piled on a dinner plate of spaghetti.

But the spaghetti itself hasn’t changed. It’s the original, familiar, balanced, comforting, satisfying same as it always was.

The easiest comfort food dinner. Ever.

Another virtue of this tried and true comfort meal is how easy it is to make! I keep all of the ingredients on hand at all times. They’re so common and simple it’s hardly a thought. Pop in dinner guests? No big deal. Start thawing some hamburger and chopping an onion… we’re well on the way to dinner.

It’s not only simple, it’s passive. So little of the time is spent actively cooking that it either frees me up to be busy elsewhere, or to go all out with sides and desserts and set a table that looks well planned and satisfying with relatively little effort.

chop, sweat, brown & simmer + pasta

Choose for yourself a big trusty pot. Nothing beats an enamel coated cast iron Dutch oven.

Let us sofrito : Finely dice onion, celery, bell pepper and garlic. Pour a few tablespoons of olive oil into the warm pot and add all the vegetables. Toss them around, letting them “sweat” until they’re looking soft, about 10 minutes.

(And this is probably controversial, but I don’t discriminate against the leaves of the celery, they go in too.)

Turn the heat up to medium and add in the beef. I prefer leaner hamburger for this, 80/20 being the fattest I would use. I also like for the pot to be hot enough that it immediately begins to hiss and brown the meat upon contact.

Work to loosen up the hamburger until it is a uniform mix of browning, bite sized meat bits tossed together in the vegetables.

While the beef is browning, go ahead and pour in the spices: 1 TBSP garlic powder, 1 TBSP salt, 1 TBSP dried oregano, 1 TBSP dried parsley, 2-3 bay leaves, 1 teaspoon basil. I won’t deny that am heavy handed with spices, but remember, you’re also seasoning for the tomatoes and the bland pasta at this point, so really, it’s quite reasonable.  

Finally, add in the tomatoes. I prefer the petite diced tomatoes over the large chunks, fire roasted if I’m feeling extra.

Stir until everything is combined and turn the heat down to low. Ideally, this should stew at a slow simmer for an hour, but if you only have 30 minutes, that’s fine too.

While it’s stewing, if life permits, sauté some green beans or fresh spinach with garlic, or throw together a fresh salad with some homemade ranch dressing and toasted croutons. Make a pitcher of tea, set your table or maybe get some brownies in the oven. The sauce is content to simmer quietly for a while which really affords you the ability to put together an impressive spread with minimal effort.

When at last the aroma has taken over your house, the color is deep and rich and the bits of onion and celery are looking tender, it’s ready for a taste test. Add salt if needed. Turn off the heat to let the ingredients meld their flavors as it cools while you boil a pot of pasta.

I will choose angel hair pasta or thin spaghetti 10 out of 10 times. But I can understand if you have an emotional attachment to another pasta. Most importantly, cook it al dente in heavily salted water.

When it’s done, after straining off the water, if you feel the urge to dump the pasta into the pot of sauce and stir it up, I want you to stop. Walk away. Have a cigarette. Whatever you need to do to break that neural pathway.

And while we’re on the subject, any left-over sauce should be stored in its pure form, not entwined with cold, soggy noodles, congealing in their starches like a sad Jell-O mold.

(Maybe I was affected by the government schools vat spaghetti casserole?)

So back to the pasta, when it is freshly plated and waiting, ladle a gracious amount of sauce upon it, finish it with freshly grated parmesan cheese and serve it up with a green vegetable and a slice of good bread, all shoved precariously onto one plate. Extra points if they don’t fit and are sort of piled and run into each other, causing ranch dressings and balsamic vinegars to mix with tomato sauces betwixt the pasta… this is the stuff of comfort food… actual dopamine itself.

but that does remind me …

The ‘leftover’ word does remind me of my other favorite part about making spaghetti for dinner: leftovers! Tomorrow’s sauce could be more spaghetti (on fresh pasta, needless to say) … or *lifts an eyebrow*… it could be…

Either way, I always make a huge batch of sauce, because if nothing else, it freezes well in a large ziplock bag for emergency quick dinners. Future me appreciates these kind gestures.

happy cooking !