I have been making my own pasta for a bit now, by hand I might add. My sister has a pasta maker that has been in her cupboard for a while. It has become somewhat of a joke that I want it with a passion. I am on the East Coast and she lives in Ontario. The logistics of getting that heavy monster from point A to Point B has been a dance for a few years now. I just found her posting it on her facebook page. Oh the horror! I would love to have the gorgeous Italian man sent with it as her friends suggest..however, I am willing to settle for just the silver mother of all machines. The work of hanging each hand cut strand of pasta on hangers in my kitchen sounds authentic and romantic but in reality, it bites the big one. Please oh please for the love of pasta, someone bring me that pasta maker!
Well, in response to your blog let me just begin this tirade by saying this Sicilian monstrosity (the pasta maker not the man) has not been in my cupboard but rather hidden, wrapped in a myriad of materials and stashed in the deep, dark, depths of my clothes closet. A bit of background may be helpful here. The pasta maker belonged to the mother of an ex boyfriend. One fateful night he lugged it over to my place and like a Fellini movie we made pasta and hung it to dry on coat hangers all over my apartment. Yes, like all Italian men he broke my heart one day. But time heals all and suffice to say once the sorrow of the break up wore off...translation... the inescapable feelings I had to execute a drive-by pasta maker toss though his mother’s front window (he lived at home) subsided I asked my sister if she wanted the silver machine. It is truly a beautiful culinary creation brought all the way from Sicily. This is not some cheezy Walmart knockoff. My sister was delighted to claim the rights to it. We had ,as she calls it the dance of Point A to Point B. Hah... for me more like a drunken, drug induced after hours rave. No upper class gentility here with this damn pasta machine. She wants the silver beauty as she says yet for the past 5 years I have pleaded with her take it off my hands. It is darling sister, as you call it, the mother of all machines. I’m not a big woman and this albatross weighs heavily on me. I’m preparing to move and have no inclination to pack it up and take it with me only to hide it in my clothes closet again. Yet I realize the value of this Italian machine and it’s just too beautiful and valuable to be put out for the dumpster divers to scavenge. So growing weary and after these 5 years today I made what was, yes sister, the difficult decision to ask my friends on Facebook if anyone was willing to take the silver monster on (the pasta maker not my sister). Which brings me to my infamous Facebook posting today and to my dear sister’s plea for someone to please, for the love of pasta, deliver this silver machine to that deprived pasta maker town of M’Bay and to deliver it gently to her doorstep. My neck will thank you as I know my sister will as she spends hours and hours hypnotically rolling out pasta dough and transforming it into beautiful smooth white noodles of all shapes and sizes.
ReplyDeleteMe...I’m looking for another Italian sans pasta maker. Just sayin’ is all.