Posts tagged Pasta
Saffron, Cherry Tomato & Roasted Vegetable Pasta

Do you ever sit down to dinner with someone you care rather a lot about, and discover that you've entirely run out of things to say? I imagine it must be one of those unforeseen challenges that pops up a decade or so into a marriage. You've already shared all your deepest insecurities, your hopes and desires, and all the interesting things you've learnt about the search of extra-terrestrial life, the fabric of space-time and how to companion plant corn with watermelons. It's all been said. You wake up next to each other, you fall asleep together at night, and how could anyone feasibly expect you to be interesting on that kind of long-term, consistent basis?

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Tagliatelle & The Status Quo

You know what. People are gonna tell you allllllll kinds of things - throughout your entire life - about what you should do and how you should do it. Don't EVEN listen. Or, if you do, take it with a grain of salt. Because some people will tell you you'll grow hair on the palms of your hands if you think sinful thoughts, or that you can't hang wallpaper all by yourself, or that you can't open a bottle of beer with a pair of garden hedge sheers (you can). I'd say 90% of the time people don't even know what they're on about. Do you KNOW how many people told me I need a proper pasta roller to make pasta?? Like. A MILLION. As a result, I never tried making my own pasta until last night, when - fuelled by a reasonable amount of dutch courage - I decided to give it a go with nothing but a rolling pin!

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Pasta Primavera

This is Pasta Primavera (literally 'Springtime Pasta'). You can make it out of whatever seasonal vegetables you like really, but I think fresh peas are always an essential. Stick it in a giant bowl, put on a big floppy hat, a floaty dress, find a deck chair to lounge on and welcome in the next 6 months of sunshine and beaches and  'Screw-it-I-don't-HAVE-to-be-working-and-oh-yes-thank-you-I-WOULD-like-that-cocktail'. 

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My Mum is a Jar of Pesto

This is my Mum's pesto recipe, although she'll tell you it's not really. She'll tell you she just got it out of a recipe book somewhere, and that she can't really cook, that she just follows the instructions. Bollocks! My first memories of cooking are with my mum. We used to make pancakes in the mornings before my big brother and sister went off to school. Mum would let me fill up measuring cups with milk and olive oil, and - little angel that I was - I'd always make sure to fill each cup right to the brim, so that it was impossible to move them without their contents overflowing all over the bench top. For her own inscrutable reasons, she tolerated my madness. 

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