Why I Like Pasta

Pasta is one of my favorite dish. But when asked why, I couldn’t really give a satisfying answer, so I usually go with the rationalization–who doesn’t?

Last night though, I found my answer.

Redh and I dropped by Greenwich, Fuente to feed ourselves after a grueling Christmas shopping. You could just imagine how famished we were that we took home a good-for-four meal. (Yes, we are fat. No, that’s not good. Let’s save that for another blog entry.)

Redh, checking if everything has been served.

You know the saying “Christmas is a time when you feel homesick even though you’re home?” PASTA! I mean–PRESTO! I think I get it now. As Redh was about to put some pasta into my mouth, memories of Mama and how she used to feed me with pasta flashed through my mind. It was a magical moment that I wouldn’t trade for the world. If you ever watched the movie Ratatouille, there was a scene there where food critic Anton Ego tasted Remy’s recipe, and at that moment, he was transported back to the time when he was sitting by their kitchen table and eating his mother’s homemade dish. The savoriness of Remy’s delectable concoction magically appealed to Anton’s palate, making him remember his favorite dish and why it was so. You could say the same thing happened to me. Except that my trigger was the action. Anton’s was the taste.

So now, if anybody asks me why I like pasta, I’m ever ready for an answer. So ask away!


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