When It Doesn't Love You Back

There is nothing so heartbreaking, so definitively humiliating and debilitating than that evil bitch of life called ‘Unrequited Love’.

Really, it should just be called ‘Thanks For Nothing, Love’, because let’s face it when it hits you square in the soul it makes you wish you’d never even discovered it’s giddy passion.  Never become aware of that deep place that makes you stand in awe and then brings you to your knees. Because once it is denied you, there is no going back. You have experienced a temporary gift from life, a promise that was all too soon taken away.

And this, my friends, is how I feel about pasta.

Pasta’s simplicity, its versatility, and ability to taste absolutely freaking delicious makes me want it; want it bad. From when I was a kid, when my yiayia would serve up tubular noodles covered in nutty burnt butter, a mountain of soft grated haloumi and dried mint, I have adored this sexy staple. It can be turned into amazing meals with the barest of help from the ingredients out of a dwindling fridge. But it can also be the star of Michelin standard dishes by the artistry of the true masters. If I could, I’d marry it. Or at least try to sustain a long-term relationship with it.

Sadly, pasta does not love me. Not even close.

You see, getting in the way of our love, there is a new four letter word. And it’s spelt C-A-R-B-S.

Freaking carbs. One minute there’s 8 serves at the bottom of the food pyramid and then next thing those serves are collecting on each sides of my arse. And there can only be one hot, big arsed woman in the food world and it is Nigella.

It’s mean. It’s just plain mean that something so delicious and endlessly available, could be so unrequiting to me. To you pasta I say this: ‘Screw you and your arse expanding ways. I’m gonna love you til I die.’

My Marinara – Serves 2

Olive oil

2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped

1 cup of chopped Continental parsley

Dried chillies (To taste)

Finely sliced rind of ½ a rinsed preserved lemon / blanched lemon rind

White wine

2 diced fresh tomatoes

Black pepper

350g black local mussels, scrubbed beardy-weirdy bit removed

10 whole prawns, peeled with heads and tails       on, and deveined

8 scallops (meat only)

250g spaghetti

Prepare all your ingredients and have them ready to go.

Cook the spaghetti, drain, return to the pan, slather in butter, put on the lid and keep warm.

Heat a frying pan to medium high heat. Swirl in oil and throw a third in each of the garlic, parley and sprinkle of chilli. Coat in the oil, being careful not to burn the garlic. Throw in the lemon rind, give it a stir. Add the mussels and turn up the heat. Add 1/3 of the tomatoes and shake the pan. Pour in at least ¼ cup of wine, coat the mussels, and then jam on the lid and allow the mussels to steam open. Shake the pan a few times to encourage their hinges. This should take a couple of minutes, but lift the lid from time to time to check. Once they’re open, stir the juices and the aromatics together, and pour the whole lot into the cooked spaghetti pot.

Return the pan to medium heat, add more oil and start the process again. Garlic, parsley, chilli. Then lemon rind. This time add the whole peeled prawns to the pan. Turn up the heat to allow them to caramalize quickly on one side, and then flip them over. Add the tomatoes, fry them off for a bit, and then drizzle in a little wine. Swirl the ingredients together and when the prawns are just cooked, pour them into the spaghetti pot.

And last, the scallops. Return the pan to medium heat…. Etc etc…. garlic, parsley, chilli …. Rind… up the heat and then when its hot, add the scallops. They should not take too long to cook, about 45 seconds on the first side, depending on size. Flip them over and finish with tomato, and wine. Add to pot.

Sprinkle the pot with any remaining parley and season with black pepper. Gently toss the seafood through the pasta.

Serve hot.

As revenge to pasta, I eat this Marinara with grated romano cheese.