Of late, I’ve been unable to cook due to back problems and I’m happy to say I’m on the mend now. Not being able to do any cooking (without being in pain) was starting to get obscenely boring and a bored, budding/aspiring chef is an unhappy budding chef. Though I did not cook today, I still came home to a good old Sunday dinner.
Outside, the lights have begun to flicker on. It’s still light out, but barely. Imagine the sky before the first rays of dawn, it’s like that, only this time it is the moon that is rising in the sky, barely a sliver amongst the indigo ink that surrounds it on this cloudless night. Some houses are dark, barely silhouettes against the night: Not mine. The light in the living room was on, I could see it from the base of the driveway. The television was on too. A little after 8:00PM? Mum would be watching Once Upon a Time. When I reached the mailbox, I could smell it. It was homely: Inviting even. It was the smell of an afternoon spent over the warm stove with music playing in the background. It was nostalgic. The aroma was more impressive and my mouth was watering when I opened the front door. Mum had made spaghetti and meatballs, of that I was sure. Had I ventured up to the kitchen, I would have discovered the giant pan sitting on the stove, colander atop it, with left over spaghetti waiting to be put away. Sauce would be in Mum’s good black pan, still warm even after sitting on a cool stove top for an hour or two. Meatballs larger than golf balls would be scattered around the pan.
I had just set my things down when Mum came downstairs and told me I was more than welcome to a bowl before she started the dishwasher. So, I went upstairs and it was as I thought it would be: Mum’s large pan sat with the colander atop it, sticky spaghetti sitting in it. The black pan with the sauce was still warm to the touch and the meatballs looked tantalising amongst it. It took a little bit of effort to separate some of the noodles from the rest of the clump before pouring just enough sauce on top- with a meatball of course. Mum’s meatballs aren’t matched by anyone, not even myself. They’re one of those things that no matter how many times I try to recreate them, I fear that I’ll never succeed.
The first bite was pretty blissful as were the bites to follow.
Tangy, sweet tomato sauce paired with bites of savoury meatball were perfect, a gentle reminder that there can still be good in the world, you just have to do some cooking is all.