So the other night, when Frankie and I were talking about what to have for dinner the next night I brought up Grandma's Sauce. I really, really wanted Grandma's Sauce. Hubby, being the good little Turza that he is, jumped at the chance. So, we bit the bullet and called his mom. Now, please don't take this the wrong way. I say bit the bullet because, well, we weren't sure what the reaction was going to be. I didn't know if I would have to beg for it...I mean, IT'S GRANDMA'S SAUCE. I would probably have to beg.
I didn't beg. In fact, my mother-in-law understood. You see, when she and my father-in-law got married, she tired to make him some pasta sacue. Now, IN HER OWN WORDS, she said it was gross. He sent her to his mom's house, aka Grandma, to learn how to make The Sauce. She sat at the kitchen table as Grandma went through the recipe.
"So I take some of this..." she instructed. "How much is that?" MIL asked. "I don't know," she countered "It's this much!". Heh. Isn't that great? So MIL made her stop as she measure out everthing that Grandma put in. And thus, my mother-in-law was the first person to have the written recipe. I'm now the second. The rest of 'em, well, I'm pretty sure it is instinct. Like breathing. They just know.
So. I have the ingredients. I'm prepping the meatballs, because, HELLO - you need meatballs. Duh. So as I'm cooking the meatballs they just don't look....right. I call my mother-in-law. It was my second call within less than a half hour. The first was regarding, erm...I'm not going to tell you. I feel as thought that is part of the secret. Heh. SO. The meatballs. They suck. They were getting way overly browned, or as I called them in my panic on the phone 'burned bits of shit'. I was frustrated. I can cook! I mean, really. I can cook. BUT I OVERCOOKED THESE LITTLE BITS OF SHIT. I was pissed. And paniced. EEEEEEDIIIIITTTTHHHH! I yelled. Help me! Please, come help. I need you.
I was ruining Grandma's Sauce.
Frank was going to be so mad. Then....well...my MIL told me a kind of important detail. I wasn't supposed to fully cook the meatball in the pan. I was supposed to brown the sides and then let them cook the rest of the way in the sauce. OOOPS. Good thing I cooked them in two batches. And once the sauce was finished you totally couldn't tell the messed up ones from the good ones. Seriously. So after I mastered the meatballs I got the sauce going and after it got to a boil, I tasted it so I could season it appropriately. And you won't guess what happened when I was doing it. I tossed a little salt in, then wiped my hands of the extra salt (I use the thick kosher salt, not the fine salt). After I did so, I had a little left over on my fingers. No biggie, I thought. I'll just wipe it off in the pot. As I did so, a huge, hot, boiling bubble of sauce came up from the bottom of the pot and popped right on my wrist and hand. It burned the crap out of my hand. Alright Edith, I thought. No more salt. Gottcha.
As Grandma's Sauce cooked away during the day, I couldn't help but eat about have the pot. I love this stuff. Like seriously, totally love it. YUMOLA. Obviously, Frank liked it too. Even though I was almost positive that the texture just wasn't right. Meh. There's always next time.
Oh, and Grandma? If you're reading this frrom heaven, please know this much....
Your great-grandson liked it.
He really, really liked it.
And I get all warm and fuzzy when I think about the day that Eddie asks for Great - Grandma's Sauce. And one day, his kids will asks for Great - Great -Grandma's Sauce. So on and so fourth. Edith's Sauce. Forever and ever. Living through her children, grandchildren and great grandchilren.
See? Warm and fuzzy.
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