Tinned Spaghetti on Toast

Some evenings the cupboard makes the decision for you. It's late. The fridge is thin. You haven't been to the market. There's bread, there's butter, and there's a tin of spaghetti hoops sitting where it's been sitting for weeks, waiting for exactly this kind of Wednesday.

I won't pretend this is cooking in any serious sense. But I will say this: a tin of spaghetti on properly made toast, buttered thickly, with good Cheddar grated over the top so it goes soft and stringy in the heat, is one of the more honest meals I know. It doesn't try to be anything. It just feeds you. And on the right evening, that's enough.

There's a knack to it, if you can call it that. The toast has to be sturdy. Not the pale, floppy sort that surrenders the moment sauce touches it, but toast with backbone, golden and crisp, buttered while it's still hot. The spaghetti needs to be warm all the way through, not scalding, not lukewarm. And the cheese should be decent Cheddar, something with a bit of bite, grated over the top so the heat does the rest. We're only making dinner. But even the smallest meal is worth a few minutes of attention.

I wrote it down in the notebook once: spaghetti hoops, toast, Cheddar, Tuesday, rain. It made me smile then and it still does now. There are meals that belong in the quiet hours, when nobody is watching and the kitchen is just for you.