The Zen of Pasta

See that pic up there? since you can't tell just what it is I'm sure, I will tell you. It's ravioli. Portobello ravioli to be exact, and made by my own two little hands. Well, my two hands and a pasta machine that I got for Christmas.

It is really ugly looking, but I learned a lot about making pasta, one thing being that you really ought to roll it out much thinner than you think you should. i did not do this, and it was so thick that it sort of cooked up into a very bland, crumbly bread with yummy stuff in the middle. So here's a rundown on what I learned- possibly more for my benefit than yours.

:: ricotta is the glue that holds a good filling together.
:: roll the dough out much thinner than you think you need to
:: experimenting on loved ones is a good thing
:: the best way to go about the sealing and cutting is probably an egg wash, then a pizza cutter, then a fork. I will do this next time and likely save myself a lot of heartache.
:: pasta making is a great meditative process.

Loss touched our home this weekend, and I find the reactions to that sort of thing interesting. The way we cope, the way we process things. I tend to cook my feelings, like so many others. My heart was heavy and my brain was all over the place, and it felt good to put my hands to work. Over and over I cranked that dough through the machine, and kneaded, mixed, folded, cut, and it was good. My mind got to be elsewhere for a while, and think of good times, and ponder questions that have no answers. And then at the end of it all, it was good to sit down over a bowl of homemade pasta and talk about what we were feeling. BF said it was comforting. I thought it was grody, but the act itself was of greater comfort to me.

That is sort of what cooking is becoming to me. On a day to day basis, it's how we sustain ourselves, but special dishes, or taking the long way to get to a finished dish- we sustain ourselves differently with them. We eat them, but it's our souls that get fed. That's giving and comfort at their best, and I love being able to do that for the ones I love.

that's the sort of thing that I thought about yesterday while I worked on The World's Ugliest Ravioli. But i know that next time it will be better, and the time after that better still. That sort of knowledge is so comforting when things seem sort of dark.

and before I veer off totally into a strange new and very serious direction, let's have a look at two doggies from over the weekend who desperately wanted a crack at some ravioli. I like how Lilly's face looks so sinister when her eyes arent visible and all you see are her brown eyebrows. As for the little dog, would you be able to resist that face? It gets harder and harder.