Pasta

Spaghetti, vermicelli, fettuccine, linguine, lasagna, tortellini, ravioli. Pasta conjures up images of street cafes, and pretty young people laughing over a glass or two of Chianti…..

My family loves it – if they had a choice, they’d eat it 7 days a week. My daughter will not eat at a restaurant that doesn’t offer spaghetti bolognaise. Me? I hate the stuff. It has the same constituents as wallpaper glue. But that isn’t the reason..

We moved to the shores of Lake Victoria in Tanzania in mid-1998. As we were in a bush camp, food was prepared by cooks (chefs is the wrong word). Cooking capabilities were basic. They’d take either a piece of cow that had been hacked off with an axe, or some roadrunner chicken and chuck it in a pot of boiling water for 6 hours. This meat would then be scooped onto some rice, and voila – food. Vegetables and starch? Casava was the staple diet, but if they got it wrong you died of cyanide poisoning. Rice was the alternative. Veggies – can’t remember eating any.

The wife arrives and promptly takes over the kitchen. Time for training, how to cook 101, how to clean, and not to kill the food in front of head office visitors. How to cook 101 lesson 1 is pasta. The first time anyone has ever taught the cooks anything. They are overjoyed, and extremely pleased with their cooking prowess – the word chef gets bandied around. And to show their appreciation, they cooked pasta. For six weeks straight. Lunch and dinner. Every single day. Didn’t phase the kids. Me? I hate the stuff.