Grab onto your fringe shawls, Stevie Nicks stays twirling on a spoon like angel hair my darlings. I sense a revival upon us. We’ve been riding on the backs of bucatini, rigatoni and fusilli far too long. My fellow pasta heads out there, we have to assemble and discuss. It appears orzo has successfully been brought back from the dead and we must resuscitate angel hair. I see those eager fingers fiddling around the boxes of spaghetti and linguine but our ole gal angel hair keeps getting passed up. Every pasta in the aisle deserves its turn at the table. I’m making a statement to not buy the same pasta until I’ve run out of options. If we direct our attention over to Italy, depending on what you’re making, there is only one type of pasta for the job.
In Genoa when the basil is exquisitely fragrant, you break out trofie for your pesto. In the Trapani region of Sicily ripe tomatoes are begging for pine nuts and almonds for pesto Trapanese with its soul mate, busiate. Pasta exists with a mission and it has been curated intentionally. Is there any surprise better than finding a crisp molten piece of guanciale lodged into the center of a rigatoni? I think not. Match making your pasta to a refined sauce is unlocking worlds of third eye bliss. A slow cooked tomato sauce tossed with tagliarini only takes its final form when tended to properly. The sauce awaits the pasta in the pan. The pasta goes in, along with a couple of ladles of pasta water. The flame is the muscle and works as a conduit swelling the strands of pasta with the sauce. The pasta begins to hold its weight in sauce and moisture evaporates. Voila, the slow cooked tomato sauce now clings lovingly to the individual strands as they’re yanked from the pan enforcing the notion about companionship between pasta and sauce.
It frustrates me when I see people utilize pasta as a vehicle for dumping out their pantry or fridge. Keep pasta in the pantry and save it for when you have the desire to nail a pasta dish you’ve been craving. I’ve made the fatal mistake of just throwing something together with the hopes that the pasta will carry it to the finish line. I’ll think to myself afterwards, that was sufficient.Yikes. Babe, life is gone in a blink, so if I want pasta it’s getting a counterpart that amplifies. Becoming all “Magellan-like" seeking out different shapes with appropriate mates is pure pleasure. Just like playground rules, as long as you’re being respectful and mindful of boundaries, dare I say it’s fun. Boiling some orecchiette for saucy broccoli rabe fragrant with garlic and chili is enriching. Tagliatelle with Ragù Bolognese is a transcendent experience when whispered with a couple of rasps of nutmeg. I am vowing to increase the amount of pleasure I experience while eating. When I lock in a couple of strands of pasta on my fork I want to embrace a sensational experience that only the right pasta and the right sauce can bring.
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