Christmas week and the Abernathy house is at maximum capacity: decorations on every surface, baking on every counter, and the CD from 1998 playing on repeat with its little skip during 'Silent Night' that nobody fixes because the skip IS Christmas.
This year the baking is both celebration and preparation. Mom is making Christmas cookies AND wedding cake test batches, because the wedding is in three months and the cake must be perfect. She's made three versions of the red velvet (because I want my birthday cake to also be my wedding cake, which Megan calls 'redundant' and I call 'efficient') and each version is slightly different: one with more cocoa, one with more buttermilk, one with cream cheese frosting versus a Swiss meringue buttercream.
The verdict after a family taste test that Dad described as 'the best homework I've ever done': version two with cream cheese frosting. More buttermilk makes the cake moister. Cream cheese frosting is non-negotiable. Mom wrote 'THE ONE' on the recipe card in red pen, and it went into the binder.
Ryan is here for Christmas. He got leave — five days, which in Marine terms is a vacation and in civilian terms is barely a long weekend. But five days in Norfolk, in this house, with this family, with the tree and the cookies and the skip in 'Silent Night' — it's enough. It's more than enough.
I took Ryan to the bookstore to meet Carla. Carla assessed him the way she assesses new inventory — thorough, opinionated, decisive. Her verdict: 'He doesn't read enough. Fix that.' She gave him a copy of 'The Things They Carried' by Tim O'Brien. 'A Marine should read this,' she said. Ryan took it with the respect of a man who's been given an order by a superior officer.
Mom made her Christmas Eve dinner: her traditional Italian-American feast of baked ziti, garlic bread, and Caesar salad. Not everyone does Italian on Christmas Eve, but Mom's mother did it, and her mother before that, and the tradition holds. The ziti was bubbly and golden and Ryan ate two plates and Mom said, 'Three more months and I'll be cooking for this boy permanently' with mock exasperation and genuine warmth.
After dinner, we went to church. Ryan held my hand during the service. Dad sat next to Mom. Megan sat at the end. The church was candlelit and the choir sang 'O Holy Night' and I looked down the pew at my family — old and new, complicated and simple, broken and mended — and thought: this is what I'm fighting for. Not a career. Not a plan. This. The pew. The candle. The people.
Christmas morning tomorrow. Presents and breakfast casserole and the skip in 'Silent Night.'
Merry Christmas. The table is set for six.
Mom’s baked ziti is the recipe that never needs to be explained — it just appears on the table every Christmas Eve the same way the tree appears in the corner and the CD skips during “Silent Night,” because that’s simply how things are. This year, watching Ryan go back for his second plate while Mom beamed from the kitchen doorway, I understood all over again why some traditions don’t need updating. If you’re feeding a full table — or trying to make someone feel like they’ve come home — this is the dish. It’s been in the family longer than I’ve been in the family, and God willing, it’ll outlast all of us.
Mom’s Classic Baked Ziti
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 lb ziti pasta
- 1 lb sweet Italian sausage, casings removed (or ground beef)
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 (28 oz) can crushed tomatoes
- 1 (15 oz) can tomato sauce
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano
- 1 teaspoon dried basil
- 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 15 oz whole-milk ricotta cheese
- 1 large egg
- 1/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
- 3 cups shredded low-moisture mozzarella, divided
- 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, divided
- Olive oil for the pan
Instructions
- Heat the oven. Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with olive oil and set aside.
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook the ziti 2 minutes less than the package directions (it will finish cooking in the oven). Drain and set aside.
- Build the sauce. In a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven, cook the sausage over medium-high heat, breaking it up as it browns, about 6–8 minutes. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 2 minutes. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and tomato sauce. Add oregano, basil, red pepper flakes, salt, and pepper. Simmer over medium-low heat for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
- Mix the ricotta layer. In a medium bowl, stir together the ricotta, egg, parsley, 1/4 cup of the Parmesan, and a pinch of salt and pepper until smooth.
- Combine pasta and sauce. Add the drained ziti directly into the skillet with the tomato meat sauce and toss to coat evenly.
- Layer the baking dish. Spread half the pasta-and-sauce mixture into the prepared baking dish. Drop the ricotta mixture in spoonfuls across the surface and spread gently. Sprinkle with 1 cup of the mozzarella. Add the remaining pasta mixture on top. Finish with the remaining 2 cups of mozzarella and the remaining 1/4 cup of Parmesan.
- Bake until bubbly and golden. Cover tightly with foil and bake for 20 minutes. Remove the foil and bake an additional 20–25 minutes, until the cheese is melted, bubbling at the edges, and golden brown on top.
- Rest before serving. Let the ziti rest for 10 minutes before cutting and serving. This helps it hold together and lets the flavors settle.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 580 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 24g | Carbs: 58g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 890mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 91 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.