10/17/2026
BUONGIORNO, MY LITTLE CARBOHYDRATE CRIMINALS!🍝🚨
Today is NATIONAL PASTA DAY, a sacred occasion on which calories are suspended, elastic waistbands are encouraged, and anyone ordering a salad should probably be questioned by the authorities.
But apparently, we have a situation.
Our very own Sauce Boss has gone rogue. In what can only be described as an act of aggravated Italian treason, she has stolen a family recipe from her own mamma and RELEASED IT TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC….WITHOUT PERMISSION.😳
People, I cannot emphasize the gravity of this situation. Italian mothers have been known to hold grudges longer than the Roman Empire existed. This woman is risking her inheritance, her standing in the family, and possibly her kneecaps so that YOU can make spaghetti. And what are we doing about it…
WE’RE CELEBRATING!🎉
Because it’s National Pasta Day, and if you’re going to witness a family scandal, you might as well do it with a fork in your hand. 🍽️
So come to Bertolone’s Classic Italian Restaurant today, order yourself a beautiful plate of pasta, and celebrate the most important relationship in your life. No, not your marriage, darling….YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH CARBOHYDRATES. 🥖
Your spouse may disappoint you. Your children may stop calling. Your therapist may raise her rates. But spaghetti… well, Spaghetti has NEVER asked you to explain your feelings.
And while you’re enjoying dinner, please read the scandalous confession below. It’s got everything… family secrets, unauthorized tomato distribution, threats involving garlic, and enough Italian maternal disapproval to power a small European nation.
If anyone asks where you got the recipe, YOU KNOW NOTHING. I was never here. The Sauce Boss acted alone.
Mangia, darling. And for the love of Saint Anthony, DON’T PUT RANCH ON THE LASAGNA.
💋🍷 Con amore e un alibi,
~ Zia Rosa 🌹
Official Legal Counsel to the Carbohydrate Underworld 😎
It’s National Pasta Day, and to commemorate it, I’m putting a “borrowed” family recipe on Facebook.
I borrowed it from my mamma, whom we call Nonna these days. The name has changed, but the authority hasn’t, and I absolutely did not ask permission. She’s going to be furious, but you’re going to have dinner, so please make it worth my trouble.
This is her simple, light tomato sauce, made with good tomatoes, olive oil, fresh garlic and basil. It needs about 15 minutes of gentle simmering, which means you can get dinner on the table without starting it on Thursday to eat on Sunday.
HERE’S WHAT YOU NEED
- 4 tablespoons olive oil
- 3 fresh garlic cloves, peeled and sliced
- One 28-ounce can of good-quality imported Italian tomatoes
- Fresh basil, washed and torn by hand
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 1 pound spaghetti
- ¼ cup reserved pasta water
- Grated Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano
Canned whole tomatoes work. Crush them first or leave them chunky. It is, after all, your sauce. Ground tomatoes or tomato purée work too, but don’t confuse purée with paste. AND, put the Ro-Tel down. It has plans with your Velveeta, and neither has been invited to this dinner.
As for the garlic, peel it and slice it rather than mincing it. And please, for the love of Saint Anthony, Mark and Mario, do NOT use that nasty water-packed garlic in a jar. I wouldn’t feed that to anyone, not even the people who slather my lasagna with ranch dressing.
Now that we’ve settled that, warm the olive oil in a wide sauté pan over medium heat until it’s hot, but not smoking. Add your sliced garlic and watch the color carefully. You want LIGHT golden, usually after about a minute to 90 seconds, depending on your stove. I’m not standing in your kitchen, so watch the garlic rather than worshipping the timer.
If you scorch it, throw it out and start over. Tomatoes cannot fix burnt garlic. Neither can I.
Once the garlic is lightly golden, turn off the heat and carefully add your tomatoes. Season with salt and pepper, return the pan to the heat, and simmer gently for about 15 minutes. Adjust the heat as needed; if the sauce is climbing your backsplash, we have exceeded “gently.”
While the sauce simmers, get a large pot of well-salted water boiling for your spaghetti. I usually cook mine about 8–10 minutes, but check the package and taste it. Leave a little bite because it’s going to finish cooking in the sauce.
After the sauce has simmered for about 15 minutes, stir in your torn fresh basil, let it simmer briefly, and taste again. Adjust the salt and pepper, but resist the urge to empty the spice cabinet into the pan. No fistfuls of oregano, and no sugar.
And to my Southern friends: bless your hearts, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea and resist the urge to reach for the brown sugar. We’re making Italian pomodoro, not barbecue sauce. There’s plenty of sweetness in your glass, so take a sip and leave the tomatoes alone.
Now, before you drain that spaghetti, save ¼ cup of pasta water. BEFORE. Remembering while you stare down the drain is considerably less helpful.
Toss the drained spaghetti into the sauce with the reserved water and cook together over low heat for another minute or so. That starchy water helps the sauce cling to the pasta, so every bite gets a little of both. Don’t drown it. We’re eating spaghetti; we should be able to locate it.
Finish with real grated cheese and sit down while it’s hot. You’ve got dinner, and I’ve got some explaining to do.
As my mamma would say, “Mangia e statti zitta.” Eat and keep quiet.
Especially about where you got the recipe.
