Good morning. Many times in the past few years, including the dark times of 2020, I have thought how easy it is to turn your face to the sun, if you remember it is there and if you choose to. I watched the sunrise just before I recorded this for you. My mother had died two days earlier, there is always a lot to do in the wake of someone’s death, and it was the first time I was alone and thinking of her, and also how much she would have liked the hot tub I was in at that moment and which we bought the year before, how she for sure would have been getting in and out of it and insisting on doing so naked and not caring who saw her. Mom, she had a thing for being naked, to wit:
Mom [around 1998]: Nancy, I am going to a nudist camp, why don’t you come with me?
Me: Oh my god mom, no…
Mom: It will be fun! You can write about it.
I declined, with prejudice. Mom of course went. She never flagged in her commitment to walking around without her clothes on.
Anyone following along here knows my mom has been leaving us for several years, what I have come to think of as the long linger. At least a half-dozen times I drove away from the property thinking, that is the last time I will see her… But it never was, she was the unsinkable Kathy Hayes until this past Monday. As my friend Deb later said, “She found her way home.” I am taking a lot of comfort from that.
As you will hear in the audio, I was given a sign the day before…
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I started seeing hawks as messengers just after Tim’s dad died. We were with him when he passed, in a hospital in Houston, which I wrote about in a “Modern Love” essay. I would be running in, say, Griffith Park, thinking about something difficult, and there a hawk would be, circling above me. Since Tim’s death in 2019, he’s taken over the messengering. At least that’s what I think. Anyway, this hawk was going at it all day last Sunday. There are a gazillion birds upstate but a hawk’s cry is very distinct.
On Monday afternoon, I was just coming back from a visit with Jon Ronson—whose latest book, The Castle: Adventures in the World of Unraveling Me, drops next week so go get that—when I pulled into the driveway and saw the hawk sitting there. It was a red-tailed hawk, in no hurry to move. It eventually did, keening as it flew north, then came back in the early evening, while I was sitting on the front steps soon after learning about my mom’s death.
Cooking for me is comfort and a solace. I don’t think it was that way for Mom, she was too hyper, a get-’er-done cook as opposed to a lingerer, read all about it, and her.
I gave you all the recipe for her red sauce on Pie Talk #4, in March 2023. Many changes since, including the featured image of the Melania painting now hanging in the studio where The Fifth Column guys record, and the Chinatown apartment being no more, or no more for me, though it has passed on to someone in the extended chosen family, which makes us all happy, it’s a rad pad with very, very good juju.
For now, I leave you with Mom’s Red Sauce. Please do make it, her gift to you. Let me know how it turns out xx
“Your Mom’s Red Sauce”
I’m calling it this because that’s how people always ask me for it. You are making a lot of sauce here, enough for several meals and several quarts for the freezer. This is also enough for one honkin’ big lasagna, and about that: When making lasagna, go for full-fat ricotta and mozzarella. How you make lasagna, you say? Like this: In a very large baking pan, layer sauce, al dente cooked lasagna noodles, egg-size globs of ricotta, slices of mozzarella, repeat and repeat. The finished product will weigh about 8 pounds. Bake it at 350, loosely covered with foil, for about an hour, then remove foil and bake another 30 minutes, until top layer of cheese is all melty and browning. This will feed at least 10 - 12 people, who as the years go by will ask you please to make it again x
* Olive oil, 4 - 6 T.
* 2 large yellow onions, chopped
* 2 cloves garlic, chopped
* 2 pounds hamburger meat, 80/20% fat
* 5 cans (29-ounce) Hunt’s Tomato Sauce. Yes, I know some of you want to use an Italian brand, or something organic. You do you but that’s not the sauce, and if I had a nickel for every person I’ve given this recipe to who later said,”It didn’t taste like yours...” and then admitted they did not, as specifically instructed, use the Hunt’s, I’d have about 65-cents. Try it this way first and then go fancify!
* 2 T. dried oregano, 1 T. dried basil if you have some, 2 bay leaves
In a large heavy-bottom sauce pot (not “sauce pan” as I repeatedly said in the audio), heat the olive oil over medium-heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent and with some brown bits, stirring occasionally. Add garlic and cook about a minute, stirring. Try not to burn the garlic (... she writes, often doing so herself.)
Break up hamburger with your fingers and drop into the cooking onions. Don’t break it up too much; you want some hunks the size of whole walnuts, and don’t stir too much. Cook until the meat loses its pink and there are some brown bits.
Pour in the sauce, crunch in the oregano and basil between your fingers, and add bay leaves. Stir the meat up from the bottom and bring the sauce to a simmer. Once it simmers, turn the flame as low as it will go, cover the pot but leave a tiny crack for steam to escape, and simmer, at least two hours, stirring from the bottom every 20 minutes or so, to avoid meat sticking to the bottom and scorching. Depending on your burner, a flame-tamer may be in order. The sauce originally called for three hours of simmering and by all means, go for it, but two hours is also fine.
Remove from heat, eat some right away on hot pasta, let the rest cool and freeze or otherwise save for another day.
Things people have added to good effect: Italian sausages for last hour of cooking (my mom), a splash of red wine and red pepper flakes (my former husband).
Things people have put this sauce on other than pasta: bread in a bowl (everyone), salad (my late stepfather).
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