What can YOU say in six sentences?
I shape a pile of Semolina Flour into a mountain on the kitchen island, my hands made soft by the fine powder, the earthy smell igniting an almost magical, primal olfactory response that transports me to a candlelit kitchen in Italy surrounded by sturdy village women who--
(What the hell are you just standing there for, crack an egg in that, crack the egg then knead it in with your hands, don't look at me, crack that egg in the flour or I crack it over your head.)
I have the roller in my hand, flattening dough, back and forth, back and forth, gentle waves lapping at the terra firma, smoothing the cracks, the lumps, making imperfections perfect, seamless--
(Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you limp-wristed, mincing fairy, really grab that roller, firm grip, hold it like it's your cazzone, there, bellissimo.)
The food is served, steam rising from the bowl of pasta, the al dente pasta, a phrase I never understood, but I totally understand it now, the aroma of garlic and basil, perhaps the best smell in the world, is everywhere, seeping into my pores, running through my veins--
(Mangia, idiota, you cook it, now eat it....it's really not that bad...really not that great, either...)