Ravioli crafted by Pasteria Lucchese- my gracious and talented teachers!
A recent abundance of happy chance and patient teaching has lead me to the sacred world of Italian pasta-making. My teachers are a beautiful couple who can turn an ugly lump of flour and water into the finest silk that sinfully melts upon the tongue and I am slowly finding my heart swoon in a new direction... could it be that I am seriously contemplating a small stray in my loyal relationship with cooking to follow a newly-kindled passion for baking?
Moistly dry dough is coaxed into form; stuffed, shaped, and cut into supple sturdy packages of ravioli, plin, and cappellacci. Aromas of meaty unctuousness waft to the very core of my marrow, sending my skeleton to dance in the delights that are inspired by such simple... such basic... such essentially ancient flavors. It's as if my soul was born to shred and chew the delicate pillows, allow their contents to gently slide down the back of my throat, and humbly sustain my life for one day more.
I am in love. From slumber's first end, my hands yearn to press and turn that lumpy mass; to pour my heart's gladness and sorrows into its rough, round folds; to nurture it and mold it and listen in a way that involves no ears, only my fingertips for the moment when that beautiful dough will whisper to me "I am ready".
Baking, for me, began as a practice in patience, but has become a welcome obsession. Where will it lead? What will I learn? Who can say!?! But, if luck be on my side, then perhaps the journey will know no end and one day I will make a feast for family and friends that will begin with the simple tradition of water and grain.
Posts
