I have now accepted the fact that I have consistency issues when it comes to my writing. Needing to go back to my last post to figure out how long I’ve not been writing is a matter of personal shame. But, we’ve, em, evolved beyond shame is something that I’d like to say to make myself look less like a sloth.
With the narcissism out of the way, the actual writing begins.
Bless Italians for giving us automobiles, Rome and Pirlo. Food is right up there with the other three and what started as a curious obsession for me has now taken the shape of a healthy(debatable) habit. Pasta! Thank the Italians for Pasta.
It should have been a decade ago; the time stamp is a little muddy because at the time, I did not realize that I would end up here; ah, only if we could know what the future held. It was around the time when I was trying to be the cool teenager; you know, the time when damn near everyone thinks that they’re this special snowflake that insists on walking away from the crowd and shit like that. Cringeworthy as it was, it builds for some hilariously embarrassing retrospection.
I remember sitting at this restaurant with family and as the waiter took our orders, I looked up to my dad and said, “Appa, Pasta” or something close to that; again, the details are muddy. He gave me a look that was split between ‘what has gotten into him today’ and the casual anger that runs in the blood of the males in my family. He followed that with, “Do you know what it is?” And in my infinite all-knowing wisdom, replied “Of course” in a haughty tone, as if somebody would not know what pasta was (Nope, had no clue).
“You have to eat it all, we will not finish your leftovers” My mom told me.
Needless to say, I left more than half the greenish white semi-gooey stuff on the plate and I guess it’s stuck with me since then to reserve a soft corner for pasta.
Fast forward to the present day and consumer grade hotel made pasta is out of my price range for a twice a week arrangement. What would the next logical step be then? Look out for the value for money deals right? There comes a time when it’s easier to pick the comfort of home than the convenience of having to go out and eat food. Delivery is a whole other deal though and in this case, not a lot of really good pasta places around me.
I resorted to cooking or trying to cook, depending on how you look at it.
My mom has two amazing virtues; she’s really patient and she’s a great cook. Guess which one got passed on to me?
The first time I tried cooking pasta without prior experience on the basics of cooking, like boiling the vegetables, adding salt to the mix, it was a catastrophe. I’d say that you have to actively try to make something come out that bad. The second was a successful attempt at making something that resembled pasta but I prided myself on a good job done with minimal ingredients and non-existent equipment. The remaining pack of pasta sits in my fridge while I try to decide between improving my cooking and lowering my standards. Somehow I feel that the two go hand-in-hand.