A simple how-to for a homemade spaghetti meat sauce, just like mom’s

Isn’t it funny that “spaghetti” can mean so many nuanced variations of one elusive ideal? 

There is “spaghetti with marinara and meat balls”, which makes sense, because “spaghetti” is really the name of the pasta, and it has marinara and meatballs on top of it.

But then there’s “spaghetti” in the figurative sense, which is more so what I’m referring to here. 

In this scenario, “spaghetti” refers to the whole experience, the pasta, the sauce, the parmesan, all of it. But even this must be categorized. 

Are we talking public school lunchroom spaghetti, scooped from a stainless-steel trough with a gloved hand? Are we talking boxed spaghetti, with a thin orange veneer of a sauce? Are we talking summer camp spaghetti, oddly sweet and piping hot, after an a nauseatingly hot day? 

I’m talking about mom’s spaghetti, my mom’s spaghetti, the only kind I knew to be the true and right standard for all spaghetti experiences, whether or not it scarcely resembled any Italian origins. 

Mom’s spaghetti was not thick or sweet like the summer camp version, nor was it thin like a stew spilled onto pasta. Our meat was never rolled into allotted balls like at the restaurants, and our pasta was never pencil thick like they served at school.

No, mom’s spaghetti is delicately textured with all the familiar flavors of comfort. This was a melody of finely chopped and diced vegetables with lean, browned hamburger (deer or beef), slow simmered in tomato sauce with dried herbs and ladled over a plate of fine, angel hair pasta. Back then, we ate it with sliced light bread from the store, smeared with butter and sprinkled with garlic powder and toasted under the broiler, always a little burnt, and a plastic cup of sweet tea. 

In my adulthood I drink unsweet tea, and I haven’t bought sliced bread since I can remember. These days we enjoy sourdough on the side, maybe a salad and brownies for dessert if we go all out. But the spaghetti itself hasn’t changed. It’s the original, familiar, balanced, comforting, satisfying same as it always was. 

I’m not sure what sort of “spaghetti” hits home for you, but if you were at my house on spaghetti night, this is what I’d fix up for you, and I hope you’d enjoy!

The How To

Choose for yourself a big trusty pot. I prefer my enamel coated cast iron Dutch oven for this job. The dense, thick material makes for steady, even, slow cooking.

Get chopping. I prefer all of my vegetables finely diced. I don’t discriminate against the leaves of the celery either, they are welcome to join the party. 

Put your chopped vegetables in your pot and douse them with olive oil and turn on the heat, about medium to medium-high. Let them cook, stirring as needed, until they begin to wilt and soften.

Add in the beef. I prefer leaner meat for this, 80/20 at the fattest. I also like for the pot to be hot enough that it immediately begins to hiss and brown the meat. 

Work to loosen up the hamburger until you have a uniform mix of browning, bite sized meat bits tossed together in the vegetables. I use an old-fashioned potato masher for this job.

Pour in the spices. 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. 

Finally, add in the tomatoes. I prefer the petite diced tomatoes over the large chunks. I wouldn’t go so far as pureed, I feel it lacks texture, but to each is own. 

Stir until everything is combined and turn down the heat to low. Ideally, this should stew at a slow simmer for 1-2 hours. 

While it’s stewing, maybe sauté some green beans or fresh spinach with garlic, or prepare a green salad with a ranch dressing. Make a pitcher of tea, boil your pasta, set your table or maybe get some brownies in the oven. Spaghetti is so beautifully passive that it really affords you some time and free hands to put together an impressive spread with minimal effort. 

When at last the vegetables are translucent and soft, the aroma is pleasing and the color is deep and rich, it’s ready!

I feel it does help the flavor to develop if you let it rest and cool for a while, but if there’s no time, that’s ok too. (That’s what tomorrow’s leftovers are for!) Have a sample and add salt or seasoning to taste.