Noodling Around
Last night at about 9:30, I was thumbing through a few cookbooks I checked out from the library when I found a recipe for making fresh pasta. It evoked two very vivid memories.
First, I had visions of Nice Grandmother each Thanksgiving--rolling out her noodles a few days before hand, cutting them to precisely the same size, and then leaving them to dry on paper sacks on her kitchen table until it was time to make her incredible chicken and noodles. Second, I remembered the first (and only) time I tried to make fresh noodles myself. I was 13. I don't remember what I did wrong, but they ended up sticky and doughy as could be, even after they were cooked. And poor Nice Dad--as horrible as they were he ate every one!
I looked at the recipe again and saw that we had all the ingredients I needed--eggs and flour--in the house. That sealed the deal--by 9:45 I was in the kitchen mixing the dough.




Wise, but a little vain; a scatter-brained tomboy; gentle and quiet; opinionated and refined?



















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