We walked into the DeLucca’s house and proceeded straight to the kitchen – past the dim entryway, past the crackling fire in the living room, past the dining room table awaiting us.  Right into the belly of the festivities, into a belly full of snakes – hanger after hanger of snakes dangling, waving in the breeze, preparing for their fate in our own bellies.

Yes, we were in a room full of homemade pasta: beautiful angel hair, the first I would ever eat.  And it was everywhere in our friends’ kitchen: suspended from cabinet handles and drawers, draped over the backs of chairs, dangling from light fixtures.  What a joyous, unruly sight!  Such festive chaos.  Mrs. DeLucca was churning out ever more (much like Strega Nonna’s magic pasta pot going haywire), while her children tamed the noodle-snakes on hangers around the room.  They would eventually fill three large platters with celestial capellini con pesto that melted in our mouths.

Che gioia a little memory like that brings.  The whole process occurring in that Italian-American kitchen was a source of joy for the creators and observers alike, and it is a source of glee each time I try to recreate it with my sons (who conveniently love snakes AND pasta).

But, sadly, making pasta these days has been generally relegated to ripping open a bag or box, dumping it in boiling water, and jamming the ends down into submission.  An act of violence, I say – and there’s certainly no gioia in that.

Although it is wonderful that packaged pasta allows the most rushed of us to make a good meal in a flash, there IS decidedly more gioia in making it the way Aunt Irene did: squishing together a raw egg and flour with the hands,

feeling the ooze between the fingers,

and then watching the transformation of goop to dough.

Che gioia in rolling it out on a floured bread board and then churning it through the pasta maker –

And what joy in finding whatever you have to suspend the pasta from,

and then finding yourself amidst dancing pasta.  Then there’s that final moment you gingerly place the noodles in a bath of rolling water as you watch your creation gracefully immerse itself – no forced submersion necessary.

There is such joy in this present act of creation, in the process of transforming simple ingredients into simple edible masterpieces.

Yes, it takes a little more time than plopping the contents of a bag into water.  But participating in such an act of creation actually can slow time down, as you savor each joyous moment of watching the metamorphosis unfold before your eyes and in your hands.  It helps you connect more to the present, your food, and the people around you.

CHE GIOIA!

Simple Pasta Recipe (serves 2)

• 2 cups of flour
• 2 eggs
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 3-4  tablespoons of water and/or olive oil as necessary

Put flour and salt on a board or in a bowl and make a well in the middle.

Crack eggs into the well and gently beat the egg in its flour “bowl.”

Knead the dough with your finger tips until a  more substantial dough forms, adding 3 to 4 tablespoons of water if necessary (may use olive oil in place of some water as well).  Continue kneading – but this time with the palms of your hands – for 4 minutes.  Add flour to board to prevent sticking, if necessary.

Wrap in plastic and set aside 20 minutes.

Feed through pasta machine or roll out and cut noodles to desired size with a knife.

Hang, cook (time depends on noodle size), and…buon appetito!