If there’s one thing that prevented us from making our own pasta in the past, it was the (totally misguided) feeling that we wouldn’t be able to do it without going out and spending a whole bunch of money on that KitchenAid attachment everyone seems to have. When push came to shove, we never could justify the cost (sort of like the ice cream maker I’m dying to buy…), no matter how much we wanted it.
We went way too long before we realized how silly it was to hang all of our pasta dreams on a silly piece of equipment — in reality, it’s easy to make pasta with nothing more than your own hands.
… and some pretty killer pasta, at that.
The attachment is still on the wish list, of course. But now, at least we know we can get by without it. And we definitely do.
All of the best food words come from Julia. I think of her every time I grab for a bottle of wine or get my hands all up in a pretty plated dish. She talks me through my most favorite moments in the kitchen, and she talks me through my least… but the words I find myself repeating most are, “…nothing is too much trouble if it turns out the way it should.”
One of the most memorable meals we’ve ever had was made so in part by handmade pasta so perfect it needed nothing more than a bit of butter to blow our minds. We’ve talked about that meal at least once a week since, and we’ve dreamed about perfecting our own technique.
Handmade pasta is like handmade bread… it simply can’t be beat. The undertaking can feel daunting, and I’m not going to say it’s easy (anything that involves kneading probably shouldn’t be called easy) but it’s nowhere near the complicated process you’d think. And the reward is beyond compare…
We all have our little pleasures. Manicures, lunches out, fancy espresso… they’re the things that make the day to day just that much better (or more bearable). And it’s for exactly that reason that we’re willing to spend a good chunk of our hard-earned money on them.
For Mark and I, hands down, our little pleasure is food. When we’re able (and probably even when we’re not) the answer to where our money goes first is almost always food. Things like paper towels and cleaning supplies will drive me up a wall every time I have to replenish, but a nice bottle of wine, a creamy chunk of cheese, fresh herbs and spices… those, I can always justify.
This is a pretty accurate depiction of the last week… wrapped up in every scarf, hat, and blanket we have in an effort to escape the cold that somehow manages to seep in no matter the number on the thermostat.
Beyond the cold, we’ve been riding the roller coaster of emotions that is selling/buying a house… with some not so good news. The house we fell in love with (despite ourselves, since they wouldn’t take a contingent offer and here we are with a house…) sold out from under us. We weren’t worried, since it had been on the market for over a year and the agent had assured us she’d be in contact if there were any offers…
Much to Jack White’s apparent dismay, the details of his tour rider leaked out last week — but since we love a man who loves good guac, we thought they were sort of charming.
After hearing the story on NPR, we mixed up a batch — a little skeptical about the lack of garlic, but excited nonetheless. And we almost ate the whole thing standing over the bowl. All the while musing over whether the crew treats it like a contest at each stop, keeping track of who can make it best.
It sounds harsh, but lately I’ve been feeling stiff and uninspired – paralyzed even.
It’s cold, the house is on the market, work is all maybes and what ifs, and every next step seems to be waiting for something else to get out of the way. Mostly I’m impatient. Which, I suppose, is a good feeling, since I know there are good things to come.
But my skin is dry and I can’t help itching for spring… waiting, for me, has never been the best part.
Sunday morning, Mark and I woke up early to poke and prod our already-staged home into submission – a process that, naturally, involved making cookies… otherwise known as small delicious “buy our house, please” bribes.
I’m assuming the open house went well… muddy tracks implied that someone must’ve come. But since it might’ve come off as creepy to leer at potential buyers from the corner, judging their reluctance to consume a few extra calories as a personal slight against our home and the whole of our world view, we went to the gym.
… partially because we hadn’t been all week and partially because cookie dough is my kryptonite. Also, apparently, fully-baked cookies, of which I’ve had five a day since these were baked.
I’m always a little torn on Valentines Day. Should we celebrate, is it a greeting card holiday, blah, blah, blah.
Any reason to go out for a romantic dinner, though, is one I can’t generally bring myself to be down on… or stay in for a romantic dinner. Or stay in for doughnuts and beer… because let’s just be honest, the gloomiest gloom of winter is upon us and all I really want is doughnuts and beer. (We’ve covered this.)
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