A prayer for my mother ... over tagliatelle

"You want to start with the base.

"Onion, carrots, celery. ...

"A mirepoix ... the holy trinity."

It's my mother's voice that is whispering over my shoulder as I inexpertly dice the vegetables into uneven pieces and dump them into a pan to sauté. 

"Oh, do I?" I whisper back. 

No. I did not want to worship in the galley kitchen of tradition. I wanted to skip the base. Especially the green bits. 

She had always anticipated my plans and endeavored to circumvent them. She may be gone, but her advice lives on in the blessing of memory. 

"Don't skimp on the celery."

Maybe it was the pile of green half-moon crescents left on my plate after every tuna sandwich or noodle casserole of my childhood, that had tipped her off that I didn't like the miracle vegetable's peppery flavor or its tough fibrous veins. She knew, also, from the first bite of my adult-hosting events that something was missing. 

And she firmly believed the omission was a culinary sin. 

"I know you had some success trading celery for pickles in your tuna salad, but I will pray aloud for the door to hit you on the way out if you try that kinda nonsense with dinner. 

"Just close your eyes and put the celery in. The flavor won't be the same without it."

That was her message for everything I would ever question about conventional wisdom: "You just have to have faith."

And so it came to be, on the eve of all food-centric holidays that our family meal would be pasta. Something sparse on ingredients that would nevertheless provide a plentiful yield.

My mother's go-to meal was Bolognese, a flavorful meat sauce she'd pair with noodles. 

It was a family favorite, mostly because she said it was "goulash" and called it "garbagé."

What you need:

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium carrot
• 1 celery stalk
• 1 small onion
• 10 ounces ground beef (not too lean)
• 10 ounces ground pork
• 1/2 cup dry red wine
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 2 1/4 cups tomato puree 
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1-2 whole bay leaves
• 1/3 cup milk 

What you need to do:

Dice onions, celery, and carrots and put them in a large pot with olive oil. Cook over low heat, stirring occasionally until the onion is translucent. 

Increase heat to medium and add the ground meat, stirring to break it up as it cooks. Once the meat browns evenly, turn the heat to high and add wine. Cool on high until the alcohol burns off (about 30 seconds) and then turn it back to medium. 

Stir in tomato paste, puree, salt and pepper then add bay leaf and reduce heat to the lowest setting and simmer for three hours. Stir occasionally. 

To finish, remove the bay leaf, add milk, and heat thoroughly at a medium temperature. 

My mother served it over elbow macaroni, but the recipe, one of the first she ever copied for me, called for a wide flat noodle linguini, fettuccine, or tagliatelle. 

Of course, she added some words of wisdom she thought I needed most: "Remember to cook the noodles before serving."