Chapter 1 - The true beginning…disputed.
In my family run two slightly conflicting story on how my obsession with Pasta began. My Dad’s story (and he is sticking to it) is quick and simple: My parents went on a trip to Venice shortly after they were married. That is were I was conceived.
Venice + Honeymoon = Pasta obsessed child to follow nine months later. Get it?
My Mum’s story is slightly less romantic, but somewhat more plausible (I mean if Venice had such an impact on my eating habits shouldn’t pigeons also be my favorite animals?). According to her, my parents went on a trip for three weeks when I was a toddler and left me with my aunt in France. The ‘problem’ apparently started when we all returned home and from this time onwards I would request Pasta every night for supper. It turned out that my French aunt had seen nothing wrong with feeding me Pasta every dinner while my parents were. I suppose it was the time of the day were I was most upset and missing my parents. Quick at hand was her solution: feed the child some Pasta. Warm. Comforting. Just like having Mami around. And I loved it. And probably realized (in an unconscious toddler mind kind of way) that the only thing better than Pasta, was Pasta made for me by my Mum.
I was a very willful child, so I would usually get my Pasta. My Mum was very quick to teach me basics in the kitchen, so she would get some quiet time.