I gotta say that’s a darn good title for a blog post, as well as a good title for:
- a mystery novel (she walked into my kitchen like a 6-burner Vulcan range)
- an album
- an art-house flick that garners a bunch of Oscar noms and wins Best Cinematography
Anyhoo, it turns out that Heather and I are fundamentally dissimilar when it comes to pasta. She likes long noodles covered in several molecules of spicy pasta sauce. Me, I like short screwy noodles covered in plethoras of sweet pasta sauce. I don’t like spaghetti, and peppers belong in chili, not pasta sauce.
But perhaps it goes deeper than that: maybe we like pasta the way Greeks like their gods: like us. Heather, being tall, likes her pasta tall. Of course, I guess that makes me short and screwy. Moving on, we like our sauce like we like our spouses: Heather likes hers spicy, I like mine sweet.
Like all analogies, this one breaks down at some point. For instance, might I like my spouse full of garlic and basil? Well, yes in fact.
Anyway, this was just a followup to my previous post re: MadMan Dan’s Antimario Pasta, and Heather doesn’t care for it.
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