You knew it was Sunday by the wonderful smell, “Sunday Gravy” was simmering it was easy to tell. Mom was in the kitchen were the magic would begin, cooking the tomato gravy that the meatballs where in. Of course church was first; Dad and I in our dress shirts. Starched and ironed, a very bright white; not a wrinkle or speck of dirt in sight. We’d walk home from church, sit at the table and then patiently wait, while Mom piled spaghetti and meatballs on each plate. As I tried to master the spaghetti twirl by making each strand do a lovely curl, they would wiggle and jiggle falling back on my plate. And sadly my very white shirt had met its fate. Mom would tilt her head looking at the tomato spots that now covered my white shirt like little polka dots. She never said a word, however I knew, that next Sunday my shirt would look just like new.
My mother-in-law and husband would often tell a stories, one of them about Sunday gravy and how all the men’s white shirts would have specks of tomato gravy on them. They wore those shirts all day like a badge of honor. If you’ve ever tried to twirl pasta it is like being in battle and trying not to get hit. I know many of you want to refer to the term tomato sauce however, if there is meat in the tomatoes it is gravy, no meat then it is tomato sauce. Anyone from the South Jersey, Philadelpia area knows that, right?
A Very Happy Mother’s Day to those who are with us and those who are in our hearts!