Last night, I went out for pasta with friends. We drank red wine and slurped up linguine, penne, papardelle and fusilli. Some indulged in heavenly cream sauces and others in tomato sauce. I went to bed full and happy.
H commented on what a huge treat pasta is. I agreed. Generally, I try not to eat it. Semolina has no nutritional value and the carbs are scarier to me than a sausage mcmuffin. But I love it. It's comfort food. Probably because throughout my life, pasta has always played a huge role.
When we were little, my father used to make me and my brother "Special Spaghetti." Special because it didn't have sauce, just butter, olive oil, garlic powder, salt, pepper and Parmesan cheese. Recently, while on he phone with my brother, I told him I was grumpy and having a bad day. He said, "Have some Special Spaghetti."
I did. And I felt better.
My Granny called pasta "macaroni" and her Sunday sauce full of meatballs, sausage and braciole was called "gravy" not "sauce." Dinner at her house was better than any Italian restaurant I've ever been too. And I'd trade anything for one more.
In the late 80's, when my mother and new stepfather instituted "Be There or Die" Sunday night dinners, my mother went into a pasta craze. She tossed fresh veggies and anything else she could find in the fridge with spaghetti and over those meals, a new family formed.
So before I go dig into my leftovers, how has pasta played a role in your life?