You know how certain foods just stick with you? Not just in the “wow, that was delicious” kind of way, but in the “this is a core memory now” kind of way. For me, it’s spaghetti pies. These little foil-wrapped wonders were a staple of my second year at university, courtesy of my Mum.
She would mass-produce them like some kind of one-woman frozen dinner factory, so I could stack them in the freezer and always have a quick meal ready when needed. And let me tell you, I needed them. They weren’t fancy—spaghetti noodles, tomato sauce, pepperoni, and mozzarella cheese layered in a 9×6 foil pan—but they were perfect. Every time I pulled one out of the freezer and popped it in the oven, it was like a warm hug from home. Over 30 years later, I still think about those spaghetti pies and all the love my mom poured into making them. I’ve tried to recreate them a few times, but they never taste quite the same. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Or maybe it’s just that no one cooks like Mum.

The glory days of spaghetti pies
Let me set the scene: It’s my second year of university. My parents are visiting and, as usual, they’ve brought enough food to feed me and every single person in my apartment for a month. Among the haul are stacks of spaghetti pies—each one neatly packed in its own little foil pan and covered with tin foil like a shiny gift from the gods of home cooking. If I had to guess there were over 10.
The noodles were already cooked (and somehow had this creamy texture I still can’t figure out), layered with tangy tomato sauce, gooey mozzarella cheese, and perfectly placed slices of pepperoni. They were frozen solid when they arrived—little bricks of love that I could stash in my freezer and pull out whenever I needed a break from having to cook for myself. Heating one up was an event. The smell of tomato sauce and melted cheese would fill my tiny apartment kitchen, instantly transporting me back to my parent’s kitchen at home. It wasn’t just about eating; it was about feeling connected to her even when she wasn’t there.
Food is more than food
Here’s the thing: food isn’t just food. It’s memories. It’s comfort. It’s love wrapped up in carbs and cheese. Those spaghetti pies weren’t just meals—they were proof that my mom cared about me even when she couldn’t be there physically to make sure I was eating something that wasn’t Kraft Dinner. Now that my Mum is in her 80s and dealing with early-stage dementia, those memories feel even more important. I wish it was easier to call her up or sit down with her and ask her how she made those pies—what was her secret? How did she get the noodles to have that creamy texture? But the few times I have asked, she doesn’t even remember doing it anymore. Dementia is brutal like that—it doesn’t just steal memories; it steals pieces of the person you have known your whole life. It’s hard watching her fade like this, but at the same time, it makes me appreciate all the things she did for me even more. Those spaghetti pies weren’t just about feeding me—they were about taking care of me in a way only a Mum could.
Why I cook
Maybe those spaghetti pies are part of the reason I love cooking for my boys now. Making a meal for someone makes everything seem right. Picturing my Mum put so much effort into feeding my sister and I taught me that food is more than just fuel—it’s how we show we care for each other. Now that I’m a dad myself, I find so much joy in cooking for my family. Whether it’s grilling on my Big Green Egg or whipping up something new in the kitchen, cooking for me feels like a way to connect with the people I care about. But no matter how many recipes I try or how much cheese I pile on top of noodles, nothing ever tastes quite like those spaghetti pies from my university days. Maybe it’s because nostalgia adds its own flavour—a little extra seasoning you can’t replicate no matter how hard you try.
Recreating spaghetti pies
Even though I know they’ll never taste exactly like Mum’s, here’s my best attempt at recreating those legendary spaghetti pies:
Ingredients
- 8 oz cooked spaghetti noodles
- 2 tbsp butter
- 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
- 1 large egg (beaten)
- 1 cup marinara or tomato sauce
- 1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
- 20 slices pepperoni
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Optional: fresh basil for garnish (my Mum did not add anything green, it would have scared me off)
Instructions
- Preheat your oven to 375°F.
- Toss your cooked spaghetti noodles with butter until they’re coated and deliciously shiny.
- Stir in the Parmesan cheese and beaten egg until everything is mixed together.
- Press the noodle mixture into a greased 9×6 foil pan (or whatever dish you’ve got lying around).
- Spread marinara sauce over the noodles like you’re painting a masterpiece.
- Layer on your pepperoni slices—don’t skimp.
- Top it all off with mozzarella cheese (the more, the better).
- Cover tightly with foil if you’re freezing them for later.
- If baking right away, pop it in the oven uncovered for about 20–25 minutes or until the cheese is bubbly and golden brown.
- Let it cool slightly before digging in—and if you’re feeling fancy, throw some basil on top for good measure.
Pro tip: Make a bunch at once like my Mum did. Freeze them individually so you can channel your inner university student whenever you need an easy meal.
A taste of home
Every time I think of these spaghetti pies—or at least attempt to make them—I’m reminded of all those times in university when they kept me going through dark winter evenings or homesick weekends. I remember how my roommates were full of envy and also how precious I became to them as they counted down to zero. I would make sure the final pie was close to the next time my parents would visit.
More than that, though, those darn pies remind me of my Mum—of all the love and effort she put into taking care of me even when I didn’t realize how much work it was. Now that she doesn’t remember making them anymore, cooking these pies feels like a way to keep the memories close—a way to honour everything she did for me while also passing those memories down to my own kids. I tend to wonder, what food will my kids remember in 30 years that I made for them? Something extravagant like slow-cooked brisket, or something simple like bacon spaghetti (what we call carbonara). We shall see.
So here’s to Mums (and Dads) everywhere who show their love through food—and here’s to all the meals that remind us where we came from. Even if we can’t recreate them perfectly, we can still keep their spirit alive… one cheesy bite at a time.