I remember as if it were yesterday my first evening in Italy. Around 6 years ago, we had chosen to go to Rome over summer.
On our first evening, after lots of thorough research for the best Roman restaurants, we picked Tonnarello, in the Trastevere neighbourhood. I went for the Carbonara -which was barely 10 euros and still is one of the best I’ve ever tried to date. This instant was a turning point for me : I brutally understood what all the fuss was about. I thought about how we were getting it so wrong in France, and how pissed i’d be if my national dishes were twisted to the point of non-recognition. This feeling remained and kept increasing all along this initiatory journey in Rome -which blew my mind, to put it plainly.
As long as I can remember, I’ve always loved pasta ; and I’m talking sheer, true love, bordering adoration. When I asked my mom what was for dinner, if the answer wasn’t pasta, I was disappointed every-single-time.
I never was picky about my pasta. When my mom was short on time, she made me 3mn vermicelli pasta with salt and butter and she knew I’d be happy about it. I still make it from time to time. It is simple, of course, but it already highlights two central basics of good pasta : it must be well-seasoned, and it must not be dry -more on that later.
Rome instantly made be a much pickier girl. Not because I disdained all the unauthentic pasta I knew and loved -the cream-based, bacon-based carbonara, the curried shrimp pasta from my mom’s, or the ready-made canned pesto pasta. I loved them all, and still do very much. But every single one of us deserves to eat true Roman pasta. I understood that it was a crime to love pasta and not be lucky enough to try what is, in my view, a national treasure.
I say everyone deserves to, because I never met with something as basic and cheap as Roman pasta, and as rarely made correctly. Roman pasta recipes contain a maximum of 5 ingredients that can be ordered or found quite easily if you live in a Western country. No complicated technique nor ustensil is required : and the end result is mind-blowingly good.
I guess because my parents keep telling me to be more ladylike. As though! Yeah, and if you were the pope they’d be all, “Straighten your pope hat.” And “Put on your good vestments.” Oh, how awful. Did he at least die painlessly? …To shreds, you say. Well, how is his wife holding up? …To shreds, you say.
Is that a cooking show? Wow, you got that off the Internet? In my day, the Internet was only used to download pornography. For example, if you killed your grandfather, you’d cease to exist! When the lights go out, it’s nobody’s business what goes on between two consenting adults.
I love you, buddy! Five hours? Aw, man! Couldn’t you just get me the death penalty? And I’d do it again! And perhaps a third time! But that would be it. I found what I need. And it’s not friends, it’s things.
I love you, buddy! For one beautiful night I knew what it was like to be a grandmother. Subjugated, yet honored. Shut up and get to the point! No! I want to live! There are still too many things I don’t own!
I could if you hadn’t turned on the light and shut off my stereo. Check it out, y’all. Everyone who was invited is here. Daddy Bender, we’re hungry. No. We’re on the top.
I guess because my parents keep telling me to be more ladylike. As though! Yeah, and if you were the pope they’d be all, “Straighten your pope hat.” And “Put on your good vestments.” Oh, how awful. Did he at least die painlessly? …To shreds, you say. Well, how is his wife holding up? …To shreds, you say.
I could if you hadn’t turned on the light and shut off my stereo. Check it out, y’all. Everyone who was invited is here. Daddy Bender, we’re hungry. No. We’re on the top.
I guess because my parents keep telling me to be more ladylike. As though! Yeah, and if you were the pope they’d be all, “Straighten your pope hat.” And “Put on your good vestments.” Oh, how awful. Did he at least die painlessly? …To shreds, you say. Well, how is his wife holding up? …To shreds, you say.