Florentine Spaghetti Bake

School is back in session, which means the rhythm of Birmingham changes—the traffic in the morning, the school buses on the main roads, the particular quality of August-September that is both the end of summer and the beginning of fall, neither one yet, both at once. Marcus was a school child who loved school in the way children love things that agree with them; he was organized, curious, the kind of student who actually read the syllabus and who colored his notes with different pens for different subjects. His backpack was always packed the night before. He would have been, right now, finishing his freshman year at Tuskegee—no, he would be going into sophomore year, because this would be fall of his second year. I do the math sometimes. I can't not do the math.

CJ is officially a Huntsville permanent resident as of August first. He closed on the condo last week and he called me from inside it, empty, just him and his phone in a three-bedroom condominium in downtown Huntsville, and he said, "It echoes," and I said, "It echoes now. It won't always." He needs furniture. He needs dishes. He needs a kitchen stocked with the things that make a kitchen a kitchen. I am going to drive up to Huntsville in September and help him set up his kitchen properly, because setting up a kitchen is not something you do alone if you have a mother who knows how kitchens work.

The cooking class had twelve students Saturday. We have been making summer tomato things this month—the garden tomatoes that Calvin grows in quantities that require intervention—and this week we did a simple tomato sauce from scratch, the kind that doesn't need a recipe, that starts with olive oil and garlic and crushed tomatoes and ends an hour later as something that tastes like the best version of what a tomato is trying to be. Imani said, "Mother Simms, this is Italian." I said, "Baby, this is tomatoes. Tomatoes are everybody's." She laughed. She is learning that good food doesn't belong to anyone in particular. Good food belongs to whoever is hungry.

The sauce we made Saturday — that simple, no-recipe tomato sauce that starts with olive oil and ends with something truer than the sum of its parts — needed somewhere to go, and this is where I took it. A Florentine Spaghetti Bake is exactly the kind of dish I want to hand to someone like CJ for that empty condo in Huntsville: it feeds a crowd or stretches across a week, it rewards a good tomato, and it is the kind of cooking that teaches you to trust yourself in a kitchen. This is what I’ll be making when I drive up in September to help him stock those shelves.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 8

Ingredients

12 oz spaghetti
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 lb ground beef or Italian sausage (optional — omit for vegetarian)
1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 package (10 oz) frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed dry
1 cup ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided
2 large eggs, lightly beaten

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
Cook the pasta. Cook spaghetti according to package directions until just shy of al dente — it will finish in the oven. Drain and toss with 1 tablespoon olive oil to prevent sticking. Set aside.
Build the tomato sauce. In a large skillet or Dutch oven, heat remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more. If using meat, add it now and cook through, breaking it up as it browns. Drain excess fat if needed.
Simmer the sauce. Add crushed tomatoes, diced tomatoes, oregano, basil, and red pepper flakes. Season generously with salt and pepper. Simmer uncovered over medium-low heat for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce deepens in color and flavor.
Mix the spinach layer. In a medium bowl, combine the squeezed-dry spinach, ricotta, 1 cup mozzarella, 1/4 cup Parmesan, and the beaten eggs. Stir until evenly combined. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
Layer the bake. Spread a thin layer of tomato sauce across the bottom of the prepared baking dish. Add the cooked spaghetti and toss gently with most of the remaining sauce. Dollop the spinach-ricotta mixture over the top in spoonfuls and gently fold it partway into the pasta — you want pockets of it throughout, not fully mixed.
Top and bake. Spoon any remaining sauce over the top. Sprinkle with the remaining 1 cup mozzarella and 1/4 cup Parmesan. Cover tightly with foil and bake for 25 minutes. Uncover and bake an additional 10–15 minutes until the cheese is bubbly and lightly golden.
Rest before serving. Let the bake rest for 10 minutes before cutting. This helps it hold together and lets the flavors settle.

Nutrition (per serving)

Florentine Spaghetti Bake — The Sauce That Belongs to Everybody