spaghetti Archives – Lisa Scottoline

By Lisa Scottoline

It can be a problem when your kid comes home to visit. You’re not used to living together, and even the littlest thing can cause a fuss.

For Daughter Francesca and me, it was dessert.

We’re finally on the same page, food-wise, which is a nice way of saying that we’re both trying to lose weight, so we’re eating healthy foods. She’s home this weekend, so for dinner I made politically-correct pasta. By which I mean, I sautéed a few tomatoes in olive oil with whole cloves of garlic, and when the mixture got soft, I took it out of the pan and dumped it on top of whole wheat spaghetti.

By the way, the best thing about this recipe, which I invented, is that it uses garlic without having to chop it up. I hate it when my fingers smell like garlic, and I don’t buy garlic already chopped, because that’s cheating. But this way, if you toss whole cloves in the pan, they get mushy, and you can mash them with a fork. Mashing is more fun than chopping, and doesn’t involve your fingers.

You pay nothing extra for these culinary tips.

Go with God.

And before I tell you about the fight, let me mention also that I’m working on portion control. I know that’s my main problem. This should have been a reasonable-calorie dinner, even though it’s pasta, but I always up the ante by getting a second and a third helping. You might ask, why do you make so much food in the first place, Lisa? The answer is simple.

I’m Italian.

Actually the truth is, I like to make extra of everything, like scrambled eggs, so I can give some to the dogs. Every morning, I make six eggs, knowing that I’ll eat two and give them the rest. They wait patiently during my breakfast, knowing that their eggs will come. It’s all very easy.

But I was doing the same thing with whole wheat pasta, making extra for the dogs, until I realized I was using them as my portion control beard.

I busted myself and stopped.

To stay on point, I made a delightful spaghetti meal, and Francesca made a side salad. We had a fun dinner, yapping away and trying not to eat more helpings of pasta, even though I was calling to us from the colander. When we finished our meal, I wanted dessert.

This, I can’t help.

I love to eat dessert right after dinner. And when I say right, I mean immediately. Timing is everything. It doesn’t have to be a lot of something, just a taste. It’s not my fault, and I figured out why this is so:

It’s because dessert sounds so much like deserve. Also, we say that people get their just desserts, which means they get what they deserve. So, ipso fatso, I feel as if I deserve dessert.

Right now.

But Francesca doesn’t like dessert right after dinner. She can wait, which I consider a four-letter word.

This is a long-standing battle we have, because I like us to eat together, and the conversation usually goes like this: I ask her, “Want some dessert?”

She answers, “No, thanks. We just ate.”

“But don’t you want something sweet? I’m having mine now.”

“No, I’m not hungry for dessert yet.”

I get cranky. “When do you think you’ll want dessert?”

“I don’t know. Later.”

“Sooner later or later later?”

Okay, so usually I don’t eat my dessert then, and we retire to the family room, where we watch TV and work, and I spend the rest of the night asking her, “Is it later yet?”

Just like she used to ask me, “Are we there yet?”

Payback, no?

So last night, I figured I’d solve this problem. All I wanted was a small helping of vanilla ice cream, with a banana. And because I wanted it right after dinner, I decided to have it then. If I had to eat alone, so be it. Plus, this way I’d have more time to burn off the calories, by reaching for the remote throughout the evening.

So I had my ice cream and banana.

Delicious.

But then what happened is that sometime around nine o’clock, Francesca sauntered into the kitchen and returned with a small plate of vanilla ice cream. She strolled over to the couch, sat down, and started eating.

I stared at her, along with the dogs.

It looked so delicious. I could almost taste it on my tongue. In fact, I could taste it on my tongue, because I had it two hours ago.

Two whole hours ago.

So you know where this is going.

I had to have a second dessert.

I told her it was her fault, and we had a fight.

In the end, I apologized, because she was right.

And I got what I deserved.

By Lisa Scottoline

Mother Mary was a great mother.

But she was not a great housekeeper.

Guess which mattered more.

I remember her hugging me.

I remember her looking over her newspaper to laugh at something I said.

I remember her telling me I was great.

I remember her lifting an eyebrow when I was out of line.

She never yelled at me.

Her eyebrows did.

She loved me so much she had to bite me.

This might be an Italian thing.

She would just grab my arm and bite it.

She called it a love bite.

You know what?

I liked it.

I remember it.

Do you know what I don’t remember?

That the house was kind of messy.

Mother Mary worked, and I was one of the few kids who had a working mom in my class, so I know she was busy.

But her other priority was carbohydrates.

Every Sunday, she made homemade pasta and homemade tomato sauce.

You can’t even imagine how great this was, growing up.

As I’ve written before, we had pasta every night. I didn’t even think that was weird. And I had cold spaghetti for breakfast the next day, and even had spaghetti sandwiches for lunch, which I brought into school.

How do you make a spaghetti sandwich?

Just take spaghetti and put it between two loaves of Italian bread.

This would be Italian, squared.

If people laugh at you, offer them a bite.

The kids at my lunch table started out laughing and ended up begging.

Looking back, we had our ups and downs, but what I remember most about my mother is that she loved to laugh.

She really was the funniest person. I can’t remember any of her jokes now, but the substance of her jokes don’t matter.

What I remember is she was the beating heart of our family, and there was always a laugh.

So I learned humor can get you through almost anything.

And we find ourselves in a really difficult time in our country.

Joking around may look insensitive, but it helps.

The great Mel Brooks had a birthday was this week, and he said, “Humor is a defense against the universe.”

I think that’s kind of brilliant.

There are days when it seems like the universe is conspiring to break us down.

I know there are a lot of women hurting these days, and ladies, I’m with you.

And it’s hard to find the humor in politics, or a pandemic.

But humor isn’t heartless.

It’s a way to take heart.

This too shall pass.

And not because we’ll sit by idly, but because we’ll make sure it passes.

Mother Mary taught me determination, and action.

But most importantly she taught me to laugh.

So forgive me, but here’s a method to my madness, and next week, I’ll write something funny for you.

In the meantime, I’ll look around for the things that make me laugh.

Like the dogs.

This morning Boone woke me up by sitting on my head.

It’s a dog thing.

The dogs make me laugh every day.

My cat makes me laugh once a year.

But it’s a good laugh.

I also have a barn cat who likes to sit on a horse.

Now that’s funny.

He also likes to ride around in the mower.

Too bad he can’t drive.

I have a horse who’s so lazy he lies down while I groom him.

He thinks it’s funny.

Actually it is.

And I do it.

So the joke’s on me.

And here’s something that’s always funny:

The cable company.

The cable company’s always good for a laugh.

My Internet has gone out three times this week, which of course is the week my next novel is due, and I have gone through four different cable visits, three different modems, and two pounds of pasta, not homemade.

Humor and carbs.

Every time.

We will get through this, together.

Classic Column: Just Desserts

Classic Column: Mother Mary Had Priorities

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