Α Sunday pasta love affair
I clearly was not a pasta lover kind of person.
I learned to appreciate and eventually love a nice pasta meal during my sailing vacations in the Aegean sea. Boiled with sea water- and a sauce made with leftovers and basic ingredients, like one peppercorn, half a tomato, a slice of onion, 1 carrot 2 ½ zucchini, some parsley and whatever you can find in your fridge when your sailing program does not include a stopover at a marina for shopping. Still this simple dish has the taste of freedom: at night, anchored somewhere near an empty shore, our boat is transformed into a private billion star hotel, with a VIP restaurant, under the milky way, bathed in moonlight.
My absolute culinary fetish: same dish served for breakfast following a morning wakeup dive after hopping out of “bed”.
Back to reality: Summer days are over. During winter, daily routine is on a crazy tempo. Work and stress, deadlines, and one to-do-list that becomes longer every day. It is only on Sundays that I realize it is actually a Sunday. My fridge is empty and the shops are closed, feels like I am more or less like the boat running out of supplies. So, with the leftovers and the last supplies of the week – whatever survived in the fridge I cook in a snap my favorite pasta recipe, my “Pasta Povera”.
People say Sunday is the day to slow down, to bring family and friends together around the table. I am no different. I love inviting people, and there is nothing like offering a dinner cooked with love for the ones you share your everyday life with or for the ones who happen to pass by- even when it comes to Guiscard the dog- he also deserves some extra care even if he is into dogfood. After all he is the heart and soul of the house.
Lack of ingredients is replaced with some extra enthusiasm…and just like all my important rituals in life it cannot be done without music. Favorite songs on repeat according to the mood and the recipe form the Sunday soundtrack. Dancing in the kitchen, singing to Guiscard – my partner in crime with the wagging tale. Part of the dinner ritual: his walk in the neighborhood – around the hill of Lycabettus just before dinnertime. My opportunity to work off the extra calories before I indulge myself in the pleasures of some extra cheese on top of my pasta.
After all, it comes down to this: a pasta plate without the cheese is like springtime without the birds, the bees the flowers, without recklessly falling in love.
