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This dish was inspired by a subscriber (C0c0) who asked me if I could create a pasta tomato sauce without tomatoes, and a ketchup too! I will be honest, at first I thought that she was trying to pull my leg but after I asked a few questions, I realized that she was sensitive to nightshades. Then it all made sense, it was a challenge, but a fun one for sure.
My mom makes amazing spaghetti. Anytime there was a family function, any type of get together, or a simple event that required a small celebration… mom was always enlisted to make spaghetti.
I will never forget my first date, his name was Peter. My parents were pretty, aah no, VERY strict with me growing up, and dating was supposed to have been forbidden till I was 36 years old. But somehow I twisted my dads arm to let me, at the age of 15, to bring a boy home. To my dad, a date at that age meant “bring-that-boy-home-so-I-can-stare-holes-through-him. You know, the kind of date that makes everyone squirm in their chair except for dad.
Mom, had been busy planning “our family date night dinner”. I was so nervous, not for me, but for poor Peter, that I never asked mom what she was going to make. The door bell rang and it was Peter, his dad had dropped him off. Mom dished up spaghetti good and high on everyone’s plate. SPAGHETTI on date night!!! Oooooh no…. How could she, didn’t mom know that noodle slurping, face slapping, sauce dripping spaghetti didn’t make for a good impression?
We all sat in slurping silence, mouth puckering, noodle inhaling, red lip dripping silence. Dad was at the head of the table. He never broke cadence of his rough-looking exterior as he chowed down on not just one or two but three helpings. Poor Peter, he didn’t dare look up. I watched his hand tremble, fighting hard to keep the noodles wound around the fork, he had sauce all over his face. I felt bad for him. Poor guy, sitting there was sauce all over his face , all over his shirt, hands trembling, voice cracking. I kept my composure, proud that I made it through dinner without flinging spaghetti everywhere (which was common for me). I sat up straight in my chair, brushed my hair back, wiggled in girly glee, giving Peter a look with fluttering eyes, as if I were a princess. I was so perfect and composed. After dinner, he rose from his chair… his dad was outside honking the horn. I don’t think I had ever seen that boy move so fast as he did to get out of the house. I went into the bathroom to let out that breath of, “Ok dad, you got a deal… age 36 isn’t so far off”. I didn’t want to go through that again. I looked into the mirror and leaned closer. I had red stained spaghetti sauce lips, a clump of sauce on my nose, my face was covered with tiny dots of sauce as though they were freckles. I even had a line of red sauce across my neck as though a darn noodle tried to laso me!… aaaaaah! The moral of this story is… for you mom’s who make the world’s best spaghetti… Please don’t make this dish for your child’s first date night dinner with the family. lol Not unless you want she or he to be writing about it some 30 years later, on a blog for the world to read!