‘S’ is for Spaghetti

        “Use your fork and spoon!”, my mother admonished us seated around our Formica-topped dining table.  We were learning to eat spaghetti, ‘Italian-style.’ Neither her husband or their three small children were having much success.           

My mother was a ‘Working-Mom’, a rarity in 1964.  She arrived home from ‘the office’ at 5:15, and had supper on the table by 5:35.  She was ‘Queen of the 20-minute meal.’  Until this time, spaghetti at our house had always been a tall can of slimy Franco-American ‘pasta in cheesy tomato sauce’ poured over a pound of ground beef Mom had just browned in the modern, square electric frying pan that she and Dad had gotten as a wedding present.  After stirring in the Franco-American, Mom would use her pancake turner to chop the pasta into bite-size pieces, for we kids were only 6, 5, and 3 years at the time. 

            We were learning to eat spaghetti ‘Italian Style’ so as not to offend our Uncle’s Italian-born bride when she served us ‘real’ Italian Spaghetti during our up-coming visit. “Use your spoon to keep the spaghetti from sliding off the fork as you twirl it,” she coached us.  We must have eaten un-chopped Franco-American spaghetti every night for a week in preparation for our trip from Northern Michigan to New Jersey.  We practiced and practiced until we mastered the skill, a remarkable feat for such young children of German and French descent.

            Just as Mom had predicted, our Italian-born Aunt prepared ‘Real Italian Spaghetti’ (with meatballs!) for our welcome dinner.  Mom was so pleased to think that her three youngsters would do her proud at the dinner table that evening.

            Imagine Mom’s hopeful heart when our Italian Aunt stood over the pot of boiling water holding a handful of the long, stiff pasta, and broke them into bite-size pieces!