A special report filed early this morning to Wet Socks has confirmed long held speculation that my mother’s red sauce is indeed better than your mother’s red sauce.
The report comes after exhaustive investigation into Sunday dinners and family gatherings dating back to when I was a kid, and takes into account different types of macaroni, antipasto, and number of guests eating. Its findings conclude that regardless of the day of the week or time of year, my mother’s red sauce is off the charts, with perfect seasoning and just the right amount of thickness.
According to the report’s findings, you could put this sauce on anything, literally anything, and it’ll make that thing better. Chicken cutlets, french fries, string beans—you name it, my mother’s red sauce takes it to the next level. You could dip a Pop Tart in this sauce and you’d never want to eat another toaster pastry without it as long as you live.
What about meatballs? The special report found that my mother’s sauce was made for meatballs, especially if you drop them in right after the sauce is finished and let them sit for an hour to bring out the flavor of the meat. They’d have to change the meaning of death row because the prisoners there would kill each other to get a bite of that for their last meal.
Investigators who provided intel for the report want to make it clear that I love your mother. She’s an amazing lady. The relationship goes back a long time, and her sauce is delicious. She clearly knows what she’s doing. In fact, if I had to choose anyone’s red sauce besides my mother’s it would be your mother’s, hands down. Her red sauce makes other people’s sauce look like ketchup in a pot—but it still doesn’t touch my mother’s red sauce.
This sauce might as well have been sent from heaven, the report also determined. A team of angels could get together in God’s kitchen to cook Him dinner and their sauce still wouldn’t come close to my mother’s. God would probably eat it to be polite but secretly he’d be thinking about sending some other angels down for a big bowl of fresh linguine with my mother’s red sauce all over it.
The report also openly rejected my one friend from middle school’s silly idea that my mother should start a business by selling her red sauce, as if the love and time she puts into each batch could be replicated and canned. You can’t mass produce homemade bliss, Johnny. You might have a good job now, and that’s respectable, but it’s a clown idea, bro.
You haven’t lived a life worth living if you haven’t tried this sauce, the report concluded. My mother’s red sauce will make you rethink your entire existence. Every meal you’ve ever eaten will be called into question. You might have to start a journal to process your emotions after eating it.
Further investigation into the sanctity of my mother’s red sauce has been scheduled for this Sunday at approximately 6 p.m., right after dad gets done watching the game.