Church Supper Spaghetti

Mama died on Monday, May fourth, 2020, in a hospital room at UAB Medical Center, alone, because the pandemic did not allow visitors. She was eighty-three years old. The cause of death was COVID-19, which they believe she contracted at the nursing home, though the fall confused the timeline. The fall may have been a symptom—the confusion, the weakness—that preceded the diagnosis by several days. In the end it doesn't matter. What matters is that she was alone. She died without her daughter's hand. That is the thing I will carry about the way she died, separately from the grief of her dying, which is its own separate enormous thing: she died without my hand to hold. I was in the parking garage. I was in my kitchen. I was not there. The pandemic took that from me and I have said to God what I have to say about it and I will not say it again here but I said it and He heard it and we understand each other.

There was no funeral. The pandemic protocols allowed a graveside service with ten people, masked, outside. Ten people and a hole in the ground and the woman who fed a community for fifty years lowered into Alabama earth without a repast, without the church, without the smells and the sounds that would have been hers, without the homegoing service she deserved. My sisters and my brothers stood six feet apart and cried behind masks and Calvin read the Twenty-Third Psalm because it was the text Mama would have wanted and his voice did not break because this man has a voice that was built for the moments when voices must hold. I stood at the graveside with my hands at my sides and I did not cry. I was past tears. I was in the geological place. The dry enormous grief. I know this territory. I have been here before.

I came home and I cooked. I cooked for two days without stopping. I made everything she ever taught me. I made it in her honor. I made it as her funeral repast that no one would attend. I made it and I ate and I let the kitchen be the church and the service and the homegoing, the one she deserved and did not get. Bernice, the kitchen is yours. It will always be yours. You are in every dish. You are at every table. Amen.

Mama cooked for her church and her neighbors and anybody who showed up hungry for fifty years, and a pan of spaghetti was always on the table when there was a crowd to feed or a family to comfort — it was repast food, it was “we love you and we showed up” food. When I came home from that graveside and stood in my kitchen alone with nowhere to put my grief, I made this. I made it the way she made it: enough for a room full of people, even though the room was empty. I needed it to be too much. That was the point.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

2 lbs spaghetti, broken in half
2 lbs ground beef
1 large yellow onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 cans (28 oz each) crushed tomatoes
1 can (15 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
1 can (6 oz) tomato paste
1 cup beef broth
2 tsp Italian seasoning
1 tsp salt, plus more for pasta water
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
1 tsp sugar
2 tbsp olive oil
2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish

Instructions

Brown the meat. Heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add ground beef and cook, breaking it apart, until browned and no pink remains, about 8 minutes. Drain excess fat.
Build the base. Add the diced onion and bell pepper to the meat and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Make the sauce. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 2 minutes, letting it caramelize slightly. Pour in the crushed tomatoes, diced tomatoes, and beef broth. Add Italian seasoning, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, and sugar. Stir to combine, bring to a simmer, then reduce heat and cook uncovered for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Cook the pasta. While the sauce simmers, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti until just shy of al dente, about 1 minute less than package directions. Drain well.
Combine and bake. Preheat oven to 350°F. Add the drained spaghetti directly to the sauce and toss until every strand is coated. Transfer to a large greased 9x13 baking dish (or two, for a crowd). Top evenly with mozzarella and Parmesan.
Bake until golden. Bake uncovered for 20–25 minutes until the cheese is melted, bubbly, and lightly golden at the edges.
Rest and serve. Let the pan rest for 5 minutes before serving. Garnish with fresh parsley. Serve directly from the baking dish, the way it’s always been done.

Nutrition (per serving)

Church Supper Spaghetti — The Repast Mama Never Got to Have