All The Merry StarchesThe other night I managed to make pasta by hand, completely by hand. I mixed the eggs into the flour by hand, I bruised my hands rolling the dough, and cut wobbly drunken noodles from the sheet, one at a time. The texture of the pasta was different and it did seem to hold sauce a bit better. There is a reason that pasta machines are popular in the land where ancient traditions of food preparations are venerated, and I now know that reason from below: rolling pasta is bitchy hard work. I will try it again someday, but I like our pasta machine very much.
We ended up eating it under oil and garlic and generous amounts of parsley, chives, and cheese, along with some salted slim wedges of new potato. We should have roasted the potato, but we didn't, and basil would have also worked well. If the carb-conscious people aren't openly weeping yet, we sopped up the stuff at the bottom of the bowl with good local Italian bread.
This evening, we took to table machined pasta under a coat of chicken and spinach in a chipotle-cream sauce. Then the guy who cooks butter for us made Hungarian Plum Dumplings, a brown sugar cube wrapped in half a plum wrapped in potato dough, boiled, and then rolled in a mix of sugar, bread crumbs, melted butter and cinnamon.
It is a pity it is not winter.
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