It’s no secret that I love to cook, and so it’s no surprise that I’m often asked about my favorite food. I think people expect me to say something fancy like roast chicken, or pistachio-encrusted lamb chops, but the truth is, I’m a simple gal at heart. My last meal would be a toss up between tacos and spaghetti. I can find just about any reason in the world to eat tacos, but there’s something about a bowl of homemade spaghetti that makes me feel at h(om)e.
I ate a lot of spaghetti as a kid. My mom made it with a can of Prego and a box of Meuller’s pasta. I can still remember the green can of Kraft grated parmesan cheese on the dinner table. Despite the line up, I fell in love with spaghetti. Every time it was on the dinner menu I could feel something inside of me relax. Spaghetti night was an opportunity to take a break from whatever it was I was sorting through in my young life and revel in the comfort of a big bowl of pasta. Or maybe twirling the noodles on a big spoon and slurping them into my mouth was the real highlight. It’s unclear.
When I go out to eat and I see spaghetti on a menu, I almost always order it. To me, it’s one of those true tests of good cooking. It’s not so different from yoga; if you want to communicate the maturity of your yoga practice, forget the fancy tricks and show me your Trikonasana. I’ll see everything I need to know.