5/16/2023 0 Comments Angel hair pasta![]() ![]() The process of our brains choosing what to place in our mouths, chew, swallow, and digest is composed of baby miracles deserving deep respect. I’m aware of each step and I work hard to not let them go by unnoticed (especially difficult if you’re starving some days). I say in my mind, ‘I’m so grateful to have this food right now.’ I begin with small bites. Before I start, I take in the sight and smell of my meal. No, I learned in a very dramatic way to pay attention to the everyday things that we often rush through and take for granted. Pasta of any type is too darn good to shun for life. Sadly, it took me many years to figure out the full extent of what that incident taught me - and of course it wasn’t to be deathly afraid of angel hair pasta. ‘I’ll never eat angel hair again’, I vowed. My angel hair of near death amounted to a white blob on the kitchen floor. I saw my feet in socks dangling below me (a rare and memorable sight for someone who’s nearly always sat in a wheelchair) and thought, ‘ I hope he doesn’t crack a rib.’ Before I could even completely register that worry, the large wad popped out of my mouth and onto the floor, cleared of its buttery, cheese-tomato sauce. ‘ How pathetic…’īut my dad picked up on my visual signal and with few words calmly walked over to my chair, lifted me out of it, and started the Heimlich maneuver on my small 12-year-old frame. ‘ Crap, I might die from a plate of angel hair?’ I thought. I flashed a stern look towards my dad and looked down again at my dish full of unfinished yum yums. Mama T started asking a barrage of questions, none of which I could use my voice to answer, ‘What’s wrong? Are you choking? Do you need more water? Want me to tap your back?’ I knew I was in trouble when I could hear my rapid heartbeat in my ears and she exclaimed, ‘Ay, she’s turning blue!’ This caught the attention of my parents sitting across from me. Panic erupted in my body with beads of sweat as each labored attempt to swallow it down failed. That move just seemed to lodge it further in my throat. I stopped mid-sentence and quickly gulped it with a sip of water. I was quickly stuffing large swirled forkfuls of pasta in my mouth while also contributing to the dinner table conversation until one particular wad literally took my breath away. ![]() My pasta creation had that heavenly combo of salty and fatty flavors yet I wasn’t fully savoring them. I never knew it was slang until recently…don’t judge. That’s what we called grated Parmesan (or to be true to what I really ate, delicious grated Locatelli Pecorino Romano cheese). Uh, did you just type, ‘Sprinkle cheese’? I remember thoroughly enjoying it because I added my usual personal touches: a thick slab of butter when it was piping hot and the perfect coating of sprinkle cheese. My parents and I were at the dinner table eating plates of angel hair pasta with tomato sauce. My fear of eating angel hair pasta began abruptly in the year 1992. This isn’t angel hair, it’s spaghetti, but you get the drift. ![]()
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