German Spaghetti Sauce

My Grandma Ethel didn't always create culinary gold when she entered the kitchen. This isn't to say she was a bad cook, she was just a bit inattentive. The phone would ring and she would leave dinner cooking on the stove until the smoke alarm informed her it was done. She had a special gift for burning half of everything she made. The other half would be perfectly cooked and delicious. She never acknowledged any difference between the perfectly cooked half and the half that was burned to a crisp. I assume this was because she grew up in a family of thirteen kids during the Depression. Throwing away food would have been a sin. While the rest of us vultures would fight over the golden brown cookies, she would happily munch on the burned ones, washing them down with a cup of day-old coffee, reheated on the stove.

She was not without her flaws, but she definitely had her specialities. One of those was her spaghetti sauce. When I say "Grandma's spaghetti sauce," you probably think of an Italian grandma, cooking up her authentic "gravy" recipe. This is not what my grandma's spaghetti sauce was like. Picture a German farm girl from Iowa cooking up her version of what she thought spaghetti sauce should be. Henceforth, the name "German Spaghetti Sauce." The aforementioned Italian granny would be appalled by this recipe. For one, it contains no basil or garlic (note: I did add it to the recipe below, but in small amounts as to stay true to the original, but you can leave it out.) Most shocking of all, it contains worcestershire sauce and a big slug of brown sugar. So if you're looking for an authentic Italian recipe, don't make this. However, if you're looking for a tasty tomato-based sauce to go with your noodles, this might just be for you.

Grandma's spaghetti sauce took most of the day to cook. Inevitably, we'd find ourselves hanging out in the kitchen to be within smelling distance of the masterpiece. Given my grandma's propensity to char food beyond recognition, we would take turns giving the sauce a stir, as to prevent any dinner disasters. Just when we thought dinnertime would never arrive, Grandma would tell us it was time to dig in. As we filled our plates, she'd remind us that getting a bay leaf on our plate was good luck. Looking back, I'm fairly certain she said this to save herself the trouble of fishing the bay leaves out of the pot and so we wouldn't eat them if they ended up on our plate.

My dad and his brother were older than their four sisters and the only two with kids at the time. My sisters and I, my three cousins (all girls), and my youngest aunt all sat at the kids' table in the kitchen. We didn't mind not having a spot at the big dining room table- sitting in the kitchen gave us hope that we might sneak second helpings. Alas, this hope was always in vain. there were never leftovers and any second helpings belonged to Grandpa. After the last bit of sauce was soaked up by garlic bread, Grandma would retire to her recliner and be sound asleep by 7. The kids would clear the table and my mom and aunts would clean up the wreckage. Soon, we would all make a beeline for a slice of one of Grandma's pies- from the "good half," of course.

Grandma Ethel's "German" Spaghetti Sauce

Brown 1 lb ground beef with one small diced onion

Add to this:

1- 48 oz can/bottle tomato juice (Grandma tip: don't add all at once. Add as desired as it cooks.)
1-15 oz can tomato sauce
1- 12 oz can tomato paste
2 bay leaves
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp ground oregano
2 Tbsp worcestershire sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 cup chopped celery
2 tsp dried basil (my addition)
2 cloves minced garlic (my addition)

Simmer a half a day or longer, stirring occassionally.