This I Believe

I believe in my mother’s homemade pasta sauce.

I believe in walking through the door of my house and smelling fresh basil and earthy tomatoes. I believe in slyly stealing pieces of pepperoni off the cutting board when my mother’s not looking. I believe in my sister Anne always getting the Basil leaf in her sauce, and never being jealous of her as a child, because that’s just tradition. It’s a rule. I believe that it’ll taste delicious every time; that it will fill your body with warmth and comfort.

I believe in dragging a heavy wooden chair from the dining room into the kitchen and climbing up on top of it, just so I could dip a small spoon in for a taste. I believe in watching the red lava simmer and stir in a massive pot on the stove. I believe that tripping, and spilling a bowl of spaghetti onto the white carpet is such a disappointing image, that your mom doesn’t even get mad at you. I believe in empathy and understanding when this happens.

I believe that the only way to eat red sauce is with a big glass of 2% and garlic bread on the side. Serve it on spaghetti, penne, bowtie, in lasagna, over linguini, or by itself in a bowl- I believe it is the star of the show. It is magic. I believe it is medicine that will cure any ailment, from a broken bone to a broken heart. I believe that it is glue that can hold any family together. Homemade pasta sauce is there when you fall off your bike. Homemade pasta sauce is there when you make your mother proud.

I believe in my mother working over it all day long and making gallons of it to freeze and heat up on another cold evening. I believe that one day I’ll do the same. I’ll toil over a sauce that will be equally delicious because it’s made with love for my own children. I believe in love and family, because I believe in homemade pasta sauce.