“Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.” —Sophia Loren
Cecile and I, Al and Kim, and Jason and Alex were invited to Michelle and Kyle’s place in San Ramon for dinner last evening. We started with an assortment of gourmet cheeses, and then Michelle brought out Buratta Mozzarella and slice heirloom tomatoes that melted in you mouth.
Wine and drinks were flowing and Kyle made me my usual Moscow Mule. Talk about farm to table. Michelle made oven baked Salmon that Kyle caught while fishing with his friends the day before. And, as if that weren’t enough, he made homemade spaghetti from scratch.
He was rolling in dough—so to speak, laying it out flat several times over, until it was perfect enough to place it in the pasta machine to cut into strips. Al pitched in to help as the rest of us watched as if we were viewing the popular cooking show, “Chopped." Seeing Kyle in action
would make my Italian ancestors proud. There is nothing in the world better than freshly made pasta. When I was a kid visiting my family in Sicily for the summer, I used to watch my nonna Peppina make long fresh tubes of pasta, and hang them to dry in preparation for lunch. My late aunt Cettina, the finest cook there ever was—originally from Catania, made fresh pasta. The physical contact with the dough seemed to breed a sense of intimacy. She knew intutitively when the dough was the right consistency, the right thickness, when more flour and the eggs were needed. “Its all in the feel,” she used to say.
We gathered around the dinner table, We enjoyed the pasta “al dente” with red sauce and meatballs, and foccacia. The mixed green salad was fresh, salmon was perfectly cooked and we had ourselves a feast. For dessert we had multi-colored French macaroons. Before we knew it, 4 1/2 hours had gone by. We were full, we were satisfied, we were happy:-)
