hey somebody. let me tell you something.

For four months during 2008 I resided in Florence, Italy. The town’s arteries were clogged with tourists and American college students. Despite these facts I carved out fond memories from my time in Firenze. Even though I had a love/hate relationship with my host family, there were a few things about the Dentallatos that I will never forget. Dinnertime was generally a struggle not only because of my bumbling Italian, but also due to the mysterious dinners. That was prepared with indifference by my host mother Catia.

But, man, the woman could cook pasta. I am envious of Catia’s talent with pasta specifically. The effortlessness, which she boiled the noodles, she had a grace in the kitchen that does not exist in the United States. The sauce was always fresh and improvised. Although I have never won ribbons for my cooking abilities, I attempted to observe and learn from Catia. After several failed attempts, I have consistently failed at re-creating my host mother’s recipes. Tonight was not exception. After cooking my own version of Catia’s recipes, the dish was well received. Despite the praise, a silent disappointment permeates my mood whenever I eat pasta. The taste of the Dentallato kitchen is so impossible to capture.