For a long time the idea that there could be anything at all special about my spaghetti sauce made no sense to me. It was just too easy. Too fast. Too un-Italian and very, very un-gourmet. Well, before I tell you the story, be aware that Today Is The Day! Three teenagers will descend on my kitchen at noon and I am going to teach them to make The Best Spaghetti Sauce Ever. (You can follow the progress live on Twitter.)

But first, here's the backstory:

The only time I served it in public, my neighbor flew out on a family emergency. So I invited her husband/kids for dinner, giving the “anything-is-better-than-nothing” speech. Spaghetti really was all I had.

At first he was just being polite, complimenting my sauce. Surely. So I just kept chewing. But then he kept insisting he HAD to get this recipe. My cheeks burning red as the canned tomatoes on his noodles, I offered to write it down. (But my spaghetti sauce isn't even a recipe and I STILL don't have it written down. That will change today!)

Three years pass. My 17-year-old enters the kitchen wearing a worried look. Who’s pregnant, been expelled, tested positive, gotten rejected? (I’m raising teenagers. Irrational thoughts are completely routine.)

“I have to tell you something,” my daughter says. “BLANK ate the leftover spaghetti. Were you saving it?” (Name withheld; mother-daughter privilege but I will negotiate today and hopefully BLANK will go public.)

Such a revealing question. Only a child whose Mom serves leftovers way too often would even think to care. (More proof that I am a horrible mother.)

I am so relieved nobody is dead, I just laugh.

“BLANK loves your spaghetti,” she continues. “She looks in the fridge every time she comes over to see if you’ve made it. If it’s not there, she gets really upset.”

(More evidence of inadequate parenting. Only a Mom deeply mired in recipe rutted-ness would make spaghetti so often friends EXPECT to find it.)

Then (just as I am about to self-flagellate) comes a light-bulb moment -- a totally unexpected, grace-filled moment of parental bliss. My spaghetti sauce must be really good. I crave it, and although many body parts are hinting at malfunction, I’m pretty sure my taste buds are still intact.

So tomorrow, (all things going well with the teenagers such as they actually get out of bed), I'm going to tell you how I make my Best Ever Spaghetti Sauce here on Kitchen Scoop. But I warn you, it’s not really a recipe, it’s not gourmet, and it could cause strangers to go snooping around in your fridge.