Pasta straight from the pot

If pasta straight from the pot or the strainer perched in thinm sink, saucless pieces of starch, is there then eat it. The joy of taking without a second thought is what you did as a child. Indulging the mind to cross and trespass the boundary of not taking the pasta. Taking the pasta reminds me of happy times. Licking the bowl, frosting straight from the tub, strawberries from the sweet vine. I like the simple straight forwardness of see and take.

Pasta straight from the pot reminds me of Fridays when our dad was in charge of tea. Pasta without sauce, just cheese and salt was a regular. Sometimes we would have sauce, spooned cold from the jar. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, it was more that he did. He was not a cook but he tried; hence the cold pasta and sauce or no sauce combination.

Pasta from the pan evokes the same feelings as loom bands and fabs, small strips of Pringles and juices with the straw you pop through the lid.

Pasta from the pot is nostalgia. Flavourless nostalgia but still.