My love for pasta

Last night, as we were having some pasta for dinner, the conversation turned to why I love Italian-style pasta as much as I do. It all began when I was a little kid, age 5 or 6 maybe, for sure before I went to school. 

There was that house on the edge of the slope next to my parents’ where a team of Italian loggers were staying. Every day, after work, they were preparing some pastasciutta to restore themselves after a long and hard day in the forest. 

Often times, when they saw me ambling around my parents house, they would invite me to partake in their one-course, evening meal. Their recipe included tomatoes and herbs which was not the way my mom was making her pasta dish and I loved eating my pasta, “Italian style”. 

Evidently, ma parents were not overly worried by my absence and this was in an era when parents weren't too paranoid about their little kids where about. 

Not only did a get a free, tasty meal, but the lumberjacks taught me some pretty salty Italian songs that I learned on the spot, setting the foundation for my attraction to foreign languages!