My mom, Esther McConnaughay Flodstrom, was part of that big McConnaughay clan that inhabits Batavia, Geneva and St. Charles.

When she was in third grade, two blue stars were on display on the front beveled window of her house in Batavia. It was 1945: She had two big brothers fighting in World War II.

Every day after school Mom raced home to see if the blue stars had changed to gold. She saw it happen on other houses, and she knew what it meant.

Mom passed away last December. I retraced her steps from Louise White School to her former house on Prairie Street. The six blocks she endured felt interminable.

I stood outside her old house, now beautifully gardened in coneflowers, zinnias and coreopsis. Men were on ladders brushing fresh white paint onto the two-story stucco house.

And I saw the beveled window where the stars remained blue all those years ago, because, indeed, both of Mom’s brothers came home.

Batavia hosted a Victory Parade led by school children. Mom was the child in front carrying the flag. Thousands cheered for the 400 returning area soldiers as they marched down Wilson Street.

That night her mom made a pot of their favorite spaghetti and meatballs. The story goes that one of the McConnaughay cousins married a dashing Italian guy, and it was his mother’s recipe.

Mom made it for us kids too, standing at the stove in our country house in Big Rock, frying up those authentic Italian meatballs in her big cast iron skillet, for hours it seemed.

Which is why, when I make this recipe, (and I often do because my husband Jerry loves it), I roast the meatballs on a cookie sheet in a 400-degree oven. The birds sing when I close the oven door.

And I don’t even turn ‘em.

The spaghetti sauce is the most delightful marinara with the right blend of oregano, garlic and parsley. I layer it into lasagna, ladle it over eggplant parmesan, sip it through a straw.

I made Mom the dashing Italian guy’s mother’s spaghetti and meatballs shortly before she died. We sat snuggled on her little couch in Geneva. Her memory had faded.

“Did I ever tell you, honey, about my brothers in the war?” she asked, nibbling on a meatball.

“Oh yes, Mom. I love that story.”

“I was so afraid their stars would change to gold.”

And then, “Oh honey, how did you make this wonderful meatball?”

The Dashing Italian Guy’s Mother’s Spaghetti and Meatballs

(six to eight servings)

Marinara Sauce

Sauté one onion, ½ cup chopped celery, and one large clove garlic, minced, in 4 tablespoons butter in a large pot until soft.

Add:

28 oz can petite diced tomatoes

24 oz can tomato sauce

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

1 tablespoon salt (can be reduced, but I doubt the dashing Italian guy’s mom did)

1 tsp oregano

¼ tsp pepper

2 tsp sugar

½ cup dried parsley

(Simmer one hour)

Meatballs (about 33)

2 lbs ground beef

2 eggs

¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese

2 tsp salt

1 large clove garlic, minced

1 cup breadcrumbs

Mix well and form into balls. I use a #30 cookie scoop. (about 2 tablespoons) or you can make whatever size you would like. Pan fry OR roast on a 13” x 17” cookie sheet lined with parchment paper in a pre-heated 400-degree oven for about 15 minutes. I use the same method to cook bacon. (The birds sing then too.) The timing depends on the bacon’s thickness. Usually 15-20 minutes.

Carefully fold the cooked meatballs into the marinara sauce and ladle over 12 oz hot spaghetti noodles. Serve with a nice garlic bread. Buon Appetito!

Do you have a special recipe with a story to tell? I would love to write about it. Email me at Janetlagerloef@gmail.com