Posted December 15, 2010
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I'm sure I never thought about how Momma got the long strands of spaghetti into a boiling pot without breaking them in two. Years later I asked my Aunt Jessie how my mom had accomplished that feat. The technique involves very slowly feeding the spaghetti into the pot of boiling water allowing it to soften as it is fed into the pot. The result is delicious full-length pasta.
Dad was in charge of etiquette. There were strict rules and specific techniques that were applied to spaghetti eating in our house. We were not permitted to cut the spaghetti. Dad instructed us in his very own spaghetti twirling technique. A fork is used to select only a limited number of spaghetti strands. The fork is then rotated until the strands form a kind of ball of spaghetti on the twines of the fork. As we attempted to emulate his wondrous technique, we developed our own highly artistic variations.
Friends and relatives prized Momma's spaghetti recipe. For many years it was sometimes requested and served as the main entree at family gatherings. I always enjoyed it whenever and wherever it was served. However, it is difficult to improve on the memory of those Sunday afternoons, so far back in time, when we kids helped Momma prepare her spaghetti dish. As a tribute to all of our wonderful moms and the love expressed to us through their cooking, I offer Momma's Spaghetti Recipe. I hope you will enjoy it.
Momma's Spaghetti Recipe
3 large onions, chopped
3 cans family-size tomato sauce
3 cans family-size tomato paste
2-1/2 pounds ground meat
1 tablespoon Italian Seasoning
3 Beef Bouillon Cubes
Garlic Salt
3 cups water
4 dashes Worcestershire Sauce
1 small bottle olive oil
1 tablespoon sugar
Salt and Pepper
Spaghetti, cooked al dente
Grated Romano Cheese
Brown meat in olive oil. Add onions, cooking until limp. Add tomato sauce and paste. Add seasoning, sugar, Worcestershire Sauce. Cover and simmer for 2 to 3 hours. Serve over cooked spaghetti. Sprinkle with grated Romano Cheese.
I have photographs, some of their clothing, a few handwritten letters and even some kitchen items. I have carefully preserved them as though they were gold in a treasure chest.
Some of my most treasured keepsakes are my Momma's recipes. I can remember many of the dishes that she lovingly prepared for us. Each Sunday at about mid-day Momma made spaghetti. It became somewhat of a family ritual. All of us kids were involved in the project in one way or another. My bothers and I, all very close in age, competed with each other for various assignments. We took these responsibilities quite seriously. Each of us children became very possessive of the individual task delegated to us by the lead chef, our mom. We convinced ourselves that our unique contributions to the overall project were of the utmost necessity and importance.
My
job was perhaps the most important of all. I was responsible
for grating the Romano cheese. This undertaking involved
painstaking skill and specialized equipment. The first
step was to select and install the proper size cheese
grating attachment to Mom's big shiny Saladmaster Machine.
I had received prior training with regard to this procedure.
The second step was to actually grate the cheese. This
involved using one hand to turn a crank while using
the other hand to very carefully, and somewhat daintily,
press wedges of Romano cheese into the Saladmaster's
hopper. As I rotated the handle I would carefully observe
the grated cheese falling onto a plate that I had expertly
positioned below the grating operation. I was considered
to be the premier cheese grater in the group. One of
the fringe benefits of this job was that I could sample
the cheese as it was being grated so as to assure the
desired quality control. I think watching me eat some
of the grated cheese made my bothers rather jealous.
Occasionally one of them initiated a devious and always
unsuccessful attempt at stealing my job. In this instance
there was usually a quick display of tempers after which
the lead chef became personally involved in a kind of
conflict resolution process.
I was 10 years of age when the angels came for Momma. My two brothers and I were much too young to understand the gravity of
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