Two weeks until the wedding. The house is in full pre-move chaos. Boxes in the garage, lists on the fridge, Mom operating at a level of organizational intensity that would make a four-star general nervous.
The to-do list (Mom's version, written in her hand, taped to the refrigerator):
- Confirm courthouse (done)
- Confirm VFW hall (done)
- Finalize guest count (62, no changes allowed)
- Buy pork shoulders for pulled pork (Thursday, commissary)
- Practice cake one more time (Saturday)
- Press Rachel's dress (Mom, the week before)
- Dad: get suit cleaned
- Ryan: exist, show up, say 'I do'
That last one is verbatim. Mom wrote 'Ryan: exist, show up, say I do' on the family to-do list. The woman is ruthless.
I drove to Lejeune this weekend to see the base housing apartment. It's exactly what I expected: two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen with approximately four square feet of counter space, beige walls, industrial carpet. It smells like cleaning products and other people's lives.
I stood in the kitchen — my kitchen, starting in two weeks — and I felt... small. Not sad. Small. The counter is tiny. The oven is old. There's no dishwasher. The lighting is fluorescent. It's the kind of kitchen that food bloggers would call 'challenging' and Mom would call 'Tuesday.'
But then I opened the cabinet above the sink and thought: this is where the recipe cards go. And I opened the drawer next to the stove and thought: this is where the towels Mom gave Ryan go. And I looked at the counter and thought: this is where the cast iron skillet lives.
The apartment started to feel less small. Not because it got bigger, but because I started filling it — mentally, emotionally, with the things I'm bringing and the person I'm becoming and the dinner I'll put on the table every night at 1800.
Ryan met me at the apartment. We stood in the empty kitchen together and he put his arms around me from behind and said, 'Home.'
One word. That's all it took.
I drove back to Norfolk and Mom had made her spaghetti and meatballs — the Thursday night classic, the meal that's been on rotation since before I was born. I ate it and thought about the Lejeune kitchen and the Norfolk kitchen and the fact that in two weeks I'll be eating spaghetti in one and missing the other.
Two weeks. The apartment is empty. The boxes are full. The meatballs are perfect.
Almost there.
Standing in that fluorescent-lit kitchen at Lejeune, I realized the meals don’t belong to the kitchen—they belong to whoever’s making them. Mom’s Thursday night spaghetti and meatballs will taste like home whether I’m eating it off her mismatched plates in Norfolk or off the two plates Ryan and I own in base housing. This is the recipe I’m taping inside that cabinet above the sink—the first card in a kitchen that’s starting to feel like mine.
Vegan Spaghetti and Meatballs
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 12 oz spaghetti
- 1 (15 oz) can black beans, drained and rinsed
- 1 cup cooked brown rice
- 1/3 cup breadcrumbs
- 2 tablespoons ground flaxseed mixed with 3 tablespoons water
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon onion powder
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano
- 1 teaspoon dried basil
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 (24 oz) jar marinara sauce
- Fresh basil, for serving
Instructions
- Prep the flax egg. Stir together the ground flaxseed and water in a small bowl. Set aside for 5 minutes to thicken.
- Make the meatball mixture. Add the black beans to a large bowl and mash with a fork until mostly broken down but still slightly chunky. Stir in the cooked brown rice, breadcrumbs, flax egg, garlic, onion powder, oregano, basil, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Mix until everything holds together.
- Shape the meatballs. Roll the mixture into 16 balls, about 1 1/2 tablespoons each. If the mixture is too sticky, wet your hands slightly.
- Pan-fry the meatballs. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the meatballs and cook for 8–10 minutes, turning gently every few minutes, until browned on all sides and firm to the touch.
- Simmer in sauce. Pour the marinara sauce into the skillet and gently nestle the meatballs into the sauce. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.
- Cook the spaghetti. While the meatballs simmer, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the spaghetti according to package directions. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup pasta water.
- Serve. Divide the spaghetti among bowls and top with meatballs and sauce. Add a splash of pasta water to loosen the sauce if needed. Garnish with fresh basil.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 520 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 88g | Fiber: 12g | Sodium: 780mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 101 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.
