To My Pasta Maker, With Love
Dear Pasta Maker,
It has been a long time since I felt that tingly feeling you get in the pit of your stomach. Butterflies people call it. I call it a craving. I have been unable to eat wheat, rice, and potatoes for so long–because my naturopath hates me–that I needed you to complete my life. I didn’t know it until you were here, but you were a gift from heaven (aka Mister).
Mister had a moment of genius, as he often does, and listened to a colleague talk about a similar machine he had in his house. Same brand and style, but it wasn’t you. You are unique. Maybe Philips doesn’t think so, but a mother knows.
You have a quiet personality with such confidence and strength that I can’t imagine another quite the same. You can go from spaghetti to linguini and not lose your composure. Those last minute changes would rattle me, but then I am not made of the same sturdy parts as you.
I’m calling you Penne (pronounced Penny) because that is the magic you are bringing me weekly. I feed you any type of flour and you produce delicious pasta. We enjoy a symbiotic relationship. Not, as some would say, a co-dependent attachment. That would cheapen us.
I stand in awe of your offerings as you produce them effortlessly. I smile at the low hum emitting from your shiny new exterior. It is not the hum of toil, but rather the gentle, methodic rumble of the baseline in good jazz. As the warm ribbons or curls extrude from your sleek form, I am brought to tears thinking of the cranking I had to do in the past and the little success that followed. It was a dark time.
Remember that day I doubted your genius? What a silly girl I was. Your production looked too dry. You had weighed the flour and told me the liquid required. “How could that possibly be right,” I challenged naively. You warned me. I did not heed your flashing digital display. As a
mere human novice pasta maker, I suspected I knew better and kept adding liquid until it ‘looked right.’ I was wrong and you knew better. For that, I am sorry. As I cleaned the gummy mess, I prayed for forgiveness. I thought our trust would be difficult to repair.
But you are kind and forgiving and used this opportunity, as I so often do when helping my children, as a teaching moment. You knew, instinctively, that it would not happen again. You had proven your loyalty and forgave without question. You are better than I am and too humble to acknowledge it.
I will never doubt again.
This week I think we are ready for another challenge. Spinach and spelt pasta. What do you reckon? Sounds delightful, doesn’t it?
So thank you, Penne, for the weekly joy you bring. I am looking forward to our next meatball Monday together. Quality time spent with the dearest of friends are moments I cherish.
Yours in spelt,
I was not paid for this endorsement because I am a master at making money. I just really, really love this machine. Don’t worry, I added her to the ‘take out of the house in a fire,’ list. Penne is safe.