Well, you want to try that tomato sauce you just made, don’t you? I know I do.
(If you aren’t yet making your own pasta at times, I’ll say this: if you try and something goes awry, but you have a box of spaghetti handy, you won’t go hungry. The sauce will go just as well with either.)
When I sit down in front of a plate of tagliatelle, the world quiets around me, and from the first fork to the last, I’m calm and content and even, at times, happy.
(Wikipedia, as usual, actually has the distinction wrong. They cite Ada Boni’s 1983 edition of La Cucina Romana as saying fettuccine is slightly wider. Well, Ada Boni was long dead at that point, and didn’t edit her own writing when she was alive. Many of the recipes in later editions were inserted by editors. I have her 1969 book on regional Italian cooking, and her recipes for fettuccine and tagliatelle both say to cut them half an inch wide, a measurement she wouldn’t even have used. So either the pasta changed shape or we need to recognize her books are insufficient authority for things like pasta varieties.)
Nobody could eat pasta like my grandfather. He ate it every day; if it wasn’t part of dinner, then dinner wasn’t over. And not just regular dinners, either; I distinctly remember more than one Thanksgiving lasagna joining the full turkey dinner. (I think I remember there was also a spiral-cut ham there, because clearly, a full Thanksgiving dinner and a lasagna aren’t enough. For the record, there were eight of us at these dinners. Two of us were children. The lasagna alone served about twenty-four.)
Which is pretty impressive, for flour, egg, kale and tomato.
From Yesterdish’s recipe box.
Yesterdish’s Tagliatelle with Kale and Tomato
Around 3 c. kale, washed and chopped roughly
2 c. fresh tomato sauce
1 egg basic pasta dough, cut into tagliatelle
olive oil spray; Parmesan cheese, if desired
Over medium heat, saute kale with olive oil spray till tender. Add tomato sauce. Reduce heat to warm. Toss with hot taglia telle. Turn off heat and add chesse if desired.