Greetings, dear readers.

I’ve done it now. It seems that making pasta has become more than a few one-offs.

Yesterday I ran into some late afternoon hiccups at work and at home that led to taking a walk to relax and then running home to wash off a potential poison ivy encounter. Since I was already home early, and in need of a little solace, I did what we always do in my family – I decided to cook.

And I decided to cook pasta. From scratch.

There is something decidedly therapeutic about creating a well in the flour and then swirling a fork through the eggs in the well to slowly incorporate the flour. The feel of the dough, stiff to fold and press is different than bread. It reaches an elasticity that is smooth and resilient.

While the dough rests, you can decide on the sauce. And then at the end of the rest, you roll. And roll and roll. And eventually, it is thin enough.

And somehow all the energy of the day has been reimagined and transformed by egg and flour into supple sheets. And you have made pasta. And it tastes good. 

This is the kind of magic I could get used to.

Readers, I hope there’s a little magic out there in your world. I have a sense that many of us could use some tonight. I hope you are keeping safe and well and I am grateful you are here.