Oh how I wish I had been born Italian! Or even married Italian for that matter. At least I could then have a justification for my fascination of all things Italian. I have wanted to make my own pasta since tasting the real thing in Italy. It makes the dried stuff I buy at Walmart taste like cardboard....and a food snob I am not. I always loved the stuff from Walmart...before.
So tonight, my sweet hubby and I set off to make homemade pasta. Before you go voting me the new Martha Stewart, or better yet, Mario Batali, I used a pasta machine my parents gave me that they had never used. Now after 3 attempts to work the machine (and cleaning each tiny piece each time), I can see why they never used it. It is a LOT of work for a small amount of pasta. But Bobby and I sat watching the pasta extrude from the machine like 2 little kids watching chocolate being made. We were mesmerized and a bit giddy. So with our little bit of pasta hanging to dry, the tiny parts all washed for the forth and final time and my kitchen counters possibly permanently cemented with flour, we determined smiling, this HAS to be a new monthly date night!
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