Grandma's Spaghetti Sauce
By Norah Smith
“What even is a pinch, Grandma?” I asked, studying the salt shaker.
She took it from my hands. “A pinch is a pinch, dear.”
Twisting off the top, she stuck her fingers in and brought out a pinch full of salt.
“Huh.” I stared down at the cookbook I was scribbling in. “Then what do I put for salt measurements?”
She paused as she thought it over. “I’m not sure. I usually do it from memory, but maybe a quarter of a teaspoon?”
I nodded, leaning over the counter to write it down.
I dumped the onions into the pan with the four pounds of beef we had cooked and listened to them sizzle and pop. I was just about to take a drink of water when three blurry figures hurtled past me, startling me enough to spill my water.
“Give it back!” screeched one of the larger blurs, reddish brown hair flying out in her wake. The other curly-haired one echoed her, calling after the littler blur. But he only giggled madly, narrowly missing the dining room table. They were gone in a flash. And now the front of my shirt was wet.
I grumbled and attempted to dry my shirt. I focused back on the spaghetti.
“Where did this recipe come from, again?” I asked. I knew, of course, once I heard a story it was rare that I would forget it. But I liked to hear it when we made spaghetti sauce, because it was a funny story, and refreshing my memories was never a bad idea.
She sighed. “When I was younger, before I met your grandpa, I had a boyfriend, way back in, oh, 1962 or so. I went over to meet his parents one night; they didn't have much money, and spaghetti is a fairly easy, cheap thing to make. I'd never had it, though. Anyway, his mother made the best spaghetti sauce- no, that's too much garlic, dear.”
She took the rest of the garlic from me and scooped out the "too much" of what I’d already put in.
Wiping the garlic off my hands with a tea towel, I moved over to grab a basket for bread from the cabinet and slammed into my cousin who had somehow materialized there without me noticing. He was gone again before I could say anything. I huffed and took the basket from the cabinet.
As I walked back to the stove, I nearly tripped over one of the three dogs currently in the house, who had for some reason decided to settle themselves in the middle of the kitchen floor. I amazingly managed to right myself without dropping the bread basket.
“As I was saying, I asked his mother for the recipe. She usually just made it from memory, but I wrote it down just like your doing now. I broke up with the boy some months later, but I kept his mother’s spaghetti recipe. Then I married your Grandfather and he loved it, then my kids loved it. Not your dad so much, though, he always used to pick out the tomato chunks and put them on my plate. Anyhow, it's been a staple meal in our family for some fifty years or so- there, now put the beef in."
“What even is a pinch, Grandma?” I asked, studying the salt shaker.
She took it from my hands. “A pinch is a pinch, dear.”
Twisting off the top, she stuck her fingers in and brought out a pinch full of salt.
“Huh.” I stared down at the cookbook I was scribbling in. “Then what do I put for salt measurements?”
She paused as she thought it over. “I’m not sure. I usually do it from memory, but maybe a quarter of a teaspoon?”
I nodded, leaning over the counter to write it down.
I dumped the onions into the pan with the four pounds of beef we had cooked and listened to them sizzle and pop. I was just about to take a drink of water when three blurry figures hurtled past me, startling me enough to spill my water.
“Give it back!” screeched one of the larger blurs, reddish brown hair flying out in her wake. The other curly-haired one echoed her, calling after the littler blur. But he only giggled madly, narrowly missing the dining room table. They were gone in a flash. And now the front of my shirt was wet.
I grumbled and attempted to dry my shirt. I focused back on the spaghetti.
“Where did this recipe come from, again?” I asked. I knew, of course, once I heard a story it was rare that I would forget it. But I liked to hear it when we made spaghetti sauce, because it was a funny story, and refreshing my memories was never a bad idea.
She sighed. “When I was younger, before I met your grandpa, I had a boyfriend, way back in, oh, 1962 or so. I went over to meet his parents one night; they didn't have much money, and spaghetti is a fairly easy, cheap thing to make. I'd never had it, though. Anyway, his mother made the best spaghetti sauce- no, that's too much garlic, dear.”
She took the rest of the garlic from me and scooped out the "too much" of what I’d already put in.
Wiping the garlic off my hands with a tea towel, I moved over to grab a basket for bread from the cabinet and slammed into my cousin who had somehow materialized there without me noticing. He was gone again before I could say anything. I huffed and took the basket from the cabinet.
As I walked back to the stove, I nearly tripped over one of the three dogs currently in the house, who had for some reason decided to settle themselves in the middle of the kitchen floor. I amazingly managed to right myself without dropping the bread basket.
“As I was saying, I asked his mother for the recipe. She usually just made it from memory, but I wrote it down just like your doing now. I broke up with the boy some months later, but I kept his mother’s spaghetti recipe. Then I married your Grandfather and he loved it, then my kids loved it. Not your dad so much, though, he always used to pick out the tomato chunks and put them on my plate. Anyhow, it's been a staple meal in our family for some fifty years or so- there, now put the beef in."
Gently as possible, I ladled the beef into the enormous pot of sauce, trying not to splash it and scald myself- failing miserably, of course. I always burned myself at least once while cooking.
“You're going to splash yourself if you keep dumping it in from so high up.” My aunt is standing by the coffee machine- Where do they keep coming from?
“Yeah, I know. It's fine; my hands are calloused anyway.”
My grandma nodded. “Tell the others to come get lunch before it gets cold. Tell them to be fast or there won’t be any left.”
That certainly wasn’t true. We’d made enough for a legion. Then again, you’d be surprised how much seventeen people could eat.
I served my own bowl before other people got there.
Walking out to the dining room, I managed to impale myself on the decorative pointy part of my grandma’s chair that sat so uncomfortably close to the kitchen door. Most people had to suck in their tummies to get past. It kept setting and clearing the table interesting.
I waved the cat off the table and made an attempt to move the dogs who had already assembled themselves under the table in prime food-dropping areas. None of them budged.
I placed my own bowl at my preferred spot at the table and started to pick out the chunks just like my dad used to when he was little.
The kitchen had filled up now.
My aunt was heating up my cousin's alternate meal.
Several people were trying to leave the kitchen while the fridge door was open, which was just not going to happen.
Finally, I was so squished in that I could barely move my elbows, but I didn't mind. This was familiar, this was my family.
“You're going to splash yourself if you keep dumping it in from so high up.” My aunt is standing by the coffee machine- Where do they keep coming from?
“Yeah, I know. It's fine; my hands are calloused anyway.”
My grandma nodded. “Tell the others to come get lunch before it gets cold. Tell them to be fast or there won’t be any left.”
That certainly wasn’t true. We’d made enough for a legion. Then again, you’d be surprised how much seventeen people could eat.
I served my own bowl before other people got there.
Walking out to the dining room, I managed to impale myself on the decorative pointy part of my grandma’s chair that sat so uncomfortably close to the kitchen door. Most people had to suck in their tummies to get past. It kept setting and clearing the table interesting.
I waved the cat off the table and made an attempt to move the dogs who had already assembled themselves under the table in prime food-dropping areas. None of them budged.
I placed my own bowl at my preferred spot at the table and started to pick out the chunks just like my dad used to when he was little.
The kitchen had filled up now.
My aunt was heating up my cousin's alternate meal.
Several people were trying to leave the kitchen while the fridge door was open, which was just not going to happen.
Finally, I was so squished in that I could barely move my elbows, but I didn't mind. This was familiar, this was my family.
Note:
You are by no means confined to the exact measurements of this recipe. Because there aren’t any. Feel free to add a little more than a pinch of salt and decide on your own how much beef to use. You don’t even have to add peppers or mushrooms. It is entirely adjustable and up to you. I would, however, recommend leaving in the tomatoes, as it is tomato sauce. But to each their own.
Ingredients:
1 can of diced tomatoes.
1 can tomato paste.
1 can of tomato soup.
Add any leftover ketchup you may have.
1 jar of plain tomato sauce.
3 onions.
However much celery you want, if any.
1 cloves of garlic.
4 pounds of ground beef
Any amount of peppers and mushrooms you so choose.
3 tablespoons of sugar.
And just a pinch of salt.
Instructions:
Mix the diced tomatos, the paste, the soup, the ketchup, and the sauce all together in a large pot and give it a couple stirs until its completely mixed. Leave that to simmer on the stove. Then begin cooking your beef. Once the beef is nearly cooked, but not quite, add the celery, garlic, and onions. Cook them together until the meat is cooked through and then turn down the element to about a two. Now is the time to add your peppers and mushrooms. Once that is done, leave it to simmer a while. After a time, check that your sauce is properly heated through and add the sugar and the salt. Once these are totally mixed in, dump your meat, garlic, onions, and celery into the sauce and stir it together. Now, enjoy!
You are by no means confined to the exact measurements of this recipe. Because there aren’t any. Feel free to add a little more than a pinch of salt and decide on your own how much beef to use. You don’t even have to add peppers or mushrooms. It is entirely adjustable and up to you. I would, however, recommend leaving in the tomatoes, as it is tomato sauce. But to each their own.
Ingredients:
1 can of diced tomatoes.
1 can tomato paste.
1 can of tomato soup.
Add any leftover ketchup you may have.
1 jar of plain tomato sauce.
3 onions.
However much celery you want, if any.
1 cloves of garlic.
4 pounds of ground beef
Any amount of peppers and mushrooms you so choose.
3 tablespoons of sugar.
And just a pinch of salt.
Instructions:
Mix the diced tomatos, the paste, the soup, the ketchup, and the sauce all together in a large pot and give it a couple stirs until its completely mixed. Leave that to simmer on the stove. Then begin cooking your beef. Once the beef is nearly cooked, but not quite, add the celery, garlic, and onions. Cook them together until the meat is cooked through and then turn down the element to about a two. Now is the time to add your peppers and mushrooms. Once that is done, leave it to simmer a while. After a time, check that your sauce is properly heated through and add the sugar and the salt. Once these are totally mixed in, dump your meat, garlic, onions, and celery into the sauce and stir it together. Now, enjoy!