The other day, I did something wild. At least, wild by grown-up, semi-caffeinated, city-living standards.

I ordered spaghetti and meatballs. Not bucatini with veal ragu. Not handmade tagliatelle with a saffron foam. Just good ol’ spaghetti. Red sauce. Meatballs.

And friends, it was glorious.

It was the kind of meal that made me smile before the first bite. There was something deeply innocent about it. Something pure. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had spaghetti and meatballs. Not because I don’t like it. On the contrary, I love meatballs. I order them all the time as a starter. And that’s just it. Somewhere along the way,  menus came to separate the meatballs from the pasta. Meatballs became small, artisanal “bites” on a tiny slate, served with precisely drizzled balsamic glaze and a sprig of micro-basil that looks like it might blow away if you exhale too hard.

But this? This was a pile of noodles. A heap of sauce. And three big meatballs just chilling on top like they owned the place. I couldn’t stop smiling. I slurped. I twirled. I nudged the meatballs around on my plate with gleeful abandon. I did not apologize.

And here’s the thing: it didn’t even remind me of my childhood. It reminded me of the idea of childhood. That whimsical, universal version where meals are messy, joyful, and not curated for Instagram. My mom wasn’t really the “spaghetti and meatballs” type. Our meals leaned more… eclectic. But this dish? This was the kind of comfort that felt like home, even if it wasn’t my own.

It felt like a little culinary rebellion. A moment of unpretentious delight in a world that’s constantly asking us to be sensible and just a little bit over it all.

Sometimes, joy shows up in unexpected ways. In meatballs that aren’t trying to prove anything. In noodles that don’t know how to be cool. In ordering something just because it sounds fun and not because it’s low-carb, highly rated, or sustainably sourced by monks on a mountaintop.

So here’s to childhood memories that don’t have to be yours to be meaningful. To dishes that surprise you by making you feel something simple and true.
And to meatballs that stay right where they belong on a plate of spaghetti, unapologetically delicious.