"The sauce"

Gracie Smith
MSMU Class of 2027

(5/2025) I was born into a very Italian family. As mentioned in a previous article of mine, my great grandfather was first born on American soil, but the rest of the family came straight from Italy. That said, food is the center of everything. Birthday? Food. Funeral? Food. Illness? Food. Graduation? Food. Wedding? Food. At any event with family, the food is the center of attention.

All that said, my family holds a few recipes that are very close to my heart. The most valued being my great-grandmother, Virginia’s, sauce recipe. I remember cherishing this recipe for as long as I can remember, and that isn’t an exaggeration.

My obsession with the sauce began when I was in grade school. For a few of my birthdays, I requested that my mom make spaghetti with "me-mom’s" sauce. I always enjoyed an old-fashioned family dinner where I got to dress up and eat with my family. The sauce was always the first thing to be complimented of course, because my mother is the one who makes it the best.

In addition to my birthday, I remember a few Halloween holidays where my mom would get up early and make the sauce while my brother, Jack, and I were at school. We would come home and change into our costumes for trick or treating before eating the hardiest meal known to man. Nevertheless, we were always careful not to get sauce on our Halloween costumes, and we always enjoyed the leftovers for the days to follow.

Growing up, the sauce became more and more of a family icon. That is, everyone cherished it and longed for the taste of me-mom’s cooking. For instance, when my family of four would travel to Florida to visit my Aunt Mary and Uncle Ted, we’d always dedicate a day to make "the sauce," as it quickly became referred to. I remember my Aunt Mary being blown away when she tasted her mother’s sauce for the first time in years. I could see the memories flooding back to her, her eyes lost in nostalgia. It was then that I realized how much this recipe actually meant to my family.

When I was in high school, "the sauce" became more of a comfort food; it became our go-to meal whenever someone was ill, had an operation, or someone had passed. Despite being associated with such a negative event, "the sauce" always brought joy to anyone who got to eat it. Not only joy, but comfort through all the happy memories associated with it.

When I was a senior in high school, my mom woke up one day and decided to teach me how to make "the sauce". I was very excited but quickly became intimidated. As I began to make it, it dawned on me how many people counted on me to carry on "the sauce".

As I was stirring and counting my mother had said to me, "look at you, carrying on the tradition. Now I know that when I’m dead you’ll know how to cook one thing." I chuckled very loosely at this, but as of recently, I realized how true her statement was.

The day that I’m writing this article to you, my father took a very heavy fall and ended up having to go to the hospital. After leaving in somewhat of a rush, my brother and I were left to tackle the home front. I knew right away that my mother was distraught, and there was only so much I could do to help her at that time. Then, almost instantly, I knew exactly what to do. After calling my grandparents to come and stay with us for the day, I whipped out my mother’s sauce pot and got to cooking. It felt as if I had made "the sauce" about 100 times; I knew exactly what to do. My grandmother, who knows the recipe like the back of her hand, just watched. Pretty immediately, the whole house began to smell like home.

I spent most of the day tending to "the sauce", stirring, counting, simmering, stirring again, boiling, removing from the heat, etc. This went on for 4 hours.

I heard the garage door open, and I knew that mom and dad were home. I took one last look at the house. While still a little cluttered, the blankets were washed and dried, the lawn was cut, and dinner was on the stove. I cleared the pathway for my dad and mom opened the door to come in. The immediate smile on her face upon her smelling "the sauce" told me everything I needed to know.

She embraced tightly with a smile, "You made me-mom’s sauce." I nodded with a tearful smile back to her, happy I was able to comfort her and the rest of my family like she had been doing for the past 20 years. In a way, my heart was full with gratitude that my parents raised me as they did. They taught my brother and me the importance of family. No matter what, family will always be there for you. Countless times, I have witnessed my mother get up early to make "the sauce" and deliver it to family in need. Food, while the center of my family, was only so due to its ability to bring us together. "The sauce", more specifically, fills us with happy memories of how amazing our family is, but also fills our tummies.

For the sake of tradition, and for the sake of my family, this recipe will remain close to our hearts and to our blood. That said, I will not share this recipe but rather encourage all families to think about a meal or a recipe that they cherish. What does it mean to you? What does it mean to others? Why is it so important to you and to your family? Everyone is comforted by food, and every family has one recipe that means the world to them. What’s yours?