(Written by Ruchi Rohra)
I spent the better part of the day today looking up recipes for various pastas (don’t ask me what I did for the rest of the day; I might be the only person in 2015 still watching The West Wing, and I’m thoroughly ashamed). When I say pasta, I don’t mean pasta dishes. No, I don’t need the Food Network to tell me how to make a bomb pasta primavera or baked lasagna (just my overbearing mother). What I did look up was fresh pasta recipes.
Spaghetti, rigatoni, ravioli, and my personal favorite, tagliatelle (I’m bougie), there are so many different types of noodles, all lovely and carby in their own ways. As I’m sure you know (other people care about this too, right?), pasta making is an art, and there are many mediums on which it can be created. There are endless choices between semolina and white flour, whole eggs or yolks or no eggs at all, hand rolling or pasta machines, the pasta-bilities are endless (will not blame you if you choose to leave now).
As I settled on a recipe (ravioli, white flour, three eggs, hand rolled), I walked into my pantry to get started. The first thing my eyes found, though, was the dried boxed pasta that was already sitting there.
You need to understand something about my family. Actually, two things.
1. We dislike each other very much and agree on very little.
2. We agree on carbs.
My family has reinvented the idea of carbo-loading, treating it as an every day necessity rather than a once-a-month (okay, once-a-week) treat. We eat bread, rice, potatoes, and yes, pasta, like nobody’s business (seriously, it’s nobody’s business, fuck off). So when I say there’s pasta in my house, I mean it. In the interest of journalistic integrity (for the grand total of 0 people who read this), I will go check to see just how much pasta is in the pantry, so that I may present an accurate report.
Okay. I’m back.
In our pantry right now there are 2 boxes of spaghetti (one from Whole Foods because we are fancy as shit), 2 boxes of fettuccine, 1 box of large lasagna sheets, 1 box of “cut rigate,” 1 box of elbows (elbow pasta, freak), and 6 boxes of Annie’s organic macaroni & cheese (I still do not know if I believe whether mac & cheese constitutes “pasta,” but that’s a whole different issue).
So basically, the point of that heinously long list of carbohydrate-based products (Mr. Atkins is probably rolling over in his low-carb, high protein grave) is that there is more than enough pasta in my house. So much so that it would be not only borderline insane to make my own, but also wholly unnecessary. So naturally, I, being a reasonable and rational human adult (lol) walked away, and decided to pursue something more productive and useful (like The West Wing).
Now that I sit here in my kitchen poring over a slice of banana bread and tea (it’s cheat day), I think back to this afternoon, and wonder if I should have made that pasta after all.
I can feel the flour coating my fingers, scooping up globs of egg and oil.
I can feel the dough beneath my palms, doughy and elastic. I can feel the sweet ache of rolling and stretching a fresh sheet over the counter, cutting it with precision until it’s just right. In my head, it seems like a wonderful, fulfilling experience. And I wish now that I had felt these things after all.
Because, honestly, who cares if there’s already spaghetti in the pantry? Life’s way too short not to make fresh pasta.
I’m starting to realize that not everything has to have a reason. Sometimes it’s okay to just do, just live. Sometimes just wanting a feeling in your head, in your heart, in your body is enough. I’m the kind of person that tends to pursue things only as means to an end (I was into Machiavelli).
I rarely just enjoy, just doing something or experience something because I want to. But as I sit here regretting not making my own pasta this afternoon, I’m seeing that not everything needs to serve a purpose. Not everything needs to make perfect, logical sense. It’s okay to want to pursue life around the edges rather than in the shortest straight line from A to B. Sometimes it’s better to go for it just because you wanted to knead your own dough instead of boiling the store-bought stuff for 8 and a half minutes.
Live often and free. Do it because you want to, whatever “it” is.
Reason belongs to the head, but life belongs to the heart. If you let things like pure logic hold you back, the opportunity to experience, to feel, to explore, might pass you by. Who knows? Had I made my own pasta today, my very own three cheese ravioli, my whole life could have changed. Maybe I would have discovered a hidden talent. Maybe I would have had friends over, watched Christmas movies, shared laughs and smiles over bowls of pasta (doubtful: I have no friends). What today might have been has passed me by because I let something as silly as rational thinking hold me back. But there is always a tomorrow.
Who cares what’s in your pantry? Make it fresh anyways.
