My mother was the first person to teach me how to make a tomato based pasta sauce.
And my father showed me how to sneak in a spoonful of sugar to cut the acidity.
Mom taught me how to make an apple pie from scratch and dad fed me hard candy in church when no one was looking.
Suffice to say, I learned valuable lessons from both of my parents, and while I no longer attend mass on a regular basis, or any basis for that matter, I still make a mean pasta sauce.
In a perfect world filled with calorie less carbs, unicorns and oodles of free time, making sauce is an all day affair. It starts with tomatoes, includes paste, loads of garlic, bulbs of onions and bunches of herbs. It slow cooks and simmers for hours on end, filling the house with an enticing aroma, while I pop in periodically to nurture it.
I no longer live in that perfect world though. Carbs have calories, at least the kind I want to eat, and unicorns exist only in my dreams. Sometimes they sail by on a wave of buttered bagels, horns held up high.