Chopmeat and Spaghetti

I grew up in a town that was middle class and white as snow. Italians were considered "dark" and as a mixed breed that was half Syrian, I was considered Italian. We did have one Greek family, but they were considered Italian, too.  

My Mother had said once that we (meaning the town) were really lower middle class not Middle Class.  I didn't understand what made that difference at all, and I suppose it was the neighborhood household income that decided it, but I was shocked to suddenly learn we were not what I thought we were. 

We were not poor. We did not live in an apartment building (we owned a small home). We were not rich. Middle class thought I.

My Father worked many different jobs through the years, and I do not recall a time he only had a single paycheck. He had a steady part time job that helped with his steady full time job. My Mother was talented in finding bargains and feeding the four mouths that were her children. She was an uninspired cook, that would just as soon have a slab of coffee cake than dinner but we all ate hearty meals that meant a protein, a starch and a miserable vegetable.

Miserable vegetable?  Oh, yes. There was a time in America when frozen vegetables were preferred by housewives and served more often than fresh veggies. The quality of these products were absolutely awful.  A carrot is a carrot is a carrot, but the frozen peas were faintly blue tinged when you squeezed one open and had the silky consistency of concrete.

Anytime the meal roster changed up was a good thing in my book, and a frequent classic was Chopmeat and Spaghetti. We were going international and eating Italian.

Now I know that the meat is really Chopped but I remember my impression of the spelling as I heard it said. This dish grew to be the bane of my existence, but it meant there was no waxy veg on the dish beside it so the grumbling was kept to a minimum at first.

There was an old black iron skillet which was used to construct the dish. Ground beef was browned with bits of minced onion and drained to eliminate the remaining grease. My Mother despised meat as a rule so there was always some comment about how this was for you kids. My Mother also despised cooking. We did not speak the same language about most things.

In a separate pot boiled water which was salted, in later years oil was added to keep the pasta from sticking (which myself and all the real Italians I knew were dead against). Ronzoni spaghetti, never linguine or angel hair, was added and left to boil away. I forever was at the stove stirring things that should be, and later adding spices and raising or lowering the heat.  My Mother's lack of passion in the kitchen meant if you wanted pasta that was not left in the pot to be glued together from lack of attention, you better step up.

There were not too many types of pasta back then. Spaghetti, Lasagna noodles, Pastina and those little alphabet pasta were the most common. If you wanted wide egg noodles you found the ones in long clear plastic bags that the Pennsylvania Dutch sold, and if you wanted Elbow Macaroni that was always Muellers.

As the spaghetti was drained into an aluminum colander in the kitchen sink, my Mother would shake the pasta using the two handles to remove any excess water. It was the only time I saw enthusiasm, but when she stuck her face directly into the rising steam she'd say it was her facial. 

This squiggly pasta would make it's way into the black skillet along with the browned meat, onion and at least two cans of Hunt's tomato sauce. I saw quite a bit of Del Monte's, too, but I think whichever had the best price won. I don't recall salt or pepper being added but there was a healthy shake or two of oregano, dried.  A bit of stirring and within 15 minutes the dinner was on the table.

Not a vegetable in sight. For a long time, Chopmeat and Spaghetti was a dinner to revel in, and a respite from any vegetable medley that included lima beans. Maybe life was looking up.

Not really.