I want my last meal on this earth to be homemade, fresh pasta. I know it's a bold statement. There's so much more to choose from and so much more food that I don't know exists. However, given the choice today, I would want pasta...preferably with a tasty rich bolognese sauce.
Two years ago I purchased a pasta maker attachment for my stand mixer. I had visions of glorious noodles made for evenings dedicated to Italy. This dream has not quite developed. The first time I made pasta I found out I was pregnant...since then it's been used sparingly. Don't worry it's small amounts of usage has not limited my blabbering of how I can make pasta. My dad called my bluff and for the past year has been asking me to make him ravioli.
"Sure! Come down to Dallas and I'll whip you up the best ravioli you've ever eaten."
My dad visits...no pasta...
"I promise. This time you'll get pasta."
We got take-out instead. Oops!
"Okay, come down to Dallas this time and you'll get your ravioli."
After a year of promises I finally followed through.
I've read two books about Michelangelo. What an interesting individual of the past. Inspired and angry this man carved his way into world wonderment. He believed that his statues lived within the marble and it was his job to release them. When working on a project he would get so angry with it that he wanted to destroy it or just walk away. Something that many artists feel.
Well I felt like Michelangelo while making my ravioli. Over the course of four hours of making the dough, letting it rest, cutting the noodles and making the sauces there were a series of highs and lows that left me at times wanting to smash the unformed ravioli against the wall and simply walk away.
I won't go into the details about the chaos that turned into my kitchen while I was making dinner that evening. I knew there was a delicious meal waiting to be produced from the glob of dough that rested on my counter. All it needed was me and my ability. I pressed on.
What I made wasn't pretty. It was quite ugly. However I was beaming by 8 pm when dinner was served. I had, for the first time, made homemade ravioli with two fillings served alongside bolognese and fresh fettuccine. The basil from my garden even made an appearance with mozzarella and tomatoes.
Art on a plate and I ate it up.
Michelangelo and the Popes Ceiling
The Agony and the Ecstasy