Flour everywhere

Jake found a pasta recipe on some cooking blog and announced we were making dinner “the Italian way” tonight. Never mind that neither of us has ever made fresh pasta before, or that our kitchen barely has room for both of us to stand in it at the same time.

Flour everywhere

Turns out rolling pasta dough is harder than it looks in those five-minute YouTube videos. Jake attacked it with the determination of someone training for a marathon, while I mostly stood back and pointed out everything that was going wrong. The dough kept sticking to the rolling pin, flour ended up coating every surface including ourselves, and our “fettuccine” came out looking more like abstract art.

Quality control debate in progress.

But somehow we actually managed to produce something edible. The pasta was lumpy and uneven, the sauce came from a jar because we’d already used up all our ambition on the noodles, but sitting at our tiny breakfast bar eating our disaster creation felt like a real accomplishment.

Jake’s already talking about buying a pasta machine. I’m thinking we should maybe master boxed mac and cheese first.