A Plate of Pasta

 

It's dinner time around here.

Lunch today was, actually, one of my favorite things. Susan makes insanely good rice balls and she's always kind to keep a few for me.

Well, today, that was my lunch. Rice balls. That is all.

Incredible.

With pickings slim come dinner time, Sean and I decided to head over to our local Italian restaurant, Bella Nonna. We first tried them when they were at the Greenwich Town Party a few years ago and they're close enough that it's maybe a 5-minute drive. It's just a little too long to walk to, though I suppose we could do that also.

Sean was interested in trying one of the sandwiches that they have listed as a special. As for me, well I'd just had chicken parm from them and, frankly, I was in the mood for pasta.

Spaghetti and meatballs it was.

It was wonderful and I don't even know that this is the point of the post.

Instead, I suppose it's about the simplicity of pasta and sauce.

Oh, meatballs are a great bonus and you have to know who makes a good one to add to the dish.

As this was all rolling around in my brain, not unlike my fork twirling among the spaghetti, I thought of my mom and the recipe that hangs on my kitchen wall.

Yes. That recipe. Printed by one of my nieces and framed. It was in my mom's kitchen until we moved out.

It is my mother's sauce combined with my beloved Aunt Fay's meatballs.

This is probably the longest I've ever gone in my life without having that meal, given it's been probably three to four years. I haven't braved trying to make it, so it's on me.

But, oh, the memories it will bring back if I ever do.

Of being "the official taste tester" because, well, I was addicted to its charms. Somehow, I'd not only sample the sauce but it was quite likely a meatball would disappear in the process.

Of how my house -- the least Italian of them all -- had a feeling of being just right, especially with some bread and maybe some Sinatra on the stereo.

Of the feeling of family because we all couldn't wait for it. Then we'd gather around the dining room table as our family expanded and adjusted over the years.

Contrast that with tonight as I sat at a small kitchen table while Sean ate his wrap in his room.

My family would make the food last with the leftovers for days to the point that I'd almost -- no, not really -- be sick of eating sauce and meatballs.

But, to be clear, I haven't brought myself to make the recipe. For certain, partially because I'm no chef. At all.

Yet the bigger reason is the emotional attachment. We lost my Aunt Fay too many years ago and I adored her. For whatever reason, she adored me and, as a little kid, I could do no wrong with her. My parents marveled at it.

And, of course, we're heading towards three years without Mom. She always seemed to love making her spaghetti and meatballs, especially in her later years for her grandchildren as well as for me.

I realize the easy response to this post will be that I should suck it up and just make the damn recipe and I understand it. However, that really wasn't the point.

It was more about sweet memories brought on by a good meal. 

Tasty memories, I suppose.

For tonight, I'll simply enjoy what was a good dinner of pasta, meatballs, and bread from Bella Nonna here in Greenwich.

And have the nostalgia for dessert.