My wife makes fun of me for this, but I am SO picky about spaghetti. I don’t like eating anyone’s spaghetti other than my dad’s. Imagine having a recipe so good that you never had to try another recipe. That’s the level of delicious that we are talking about! Here’s a short little post from my last days in Ireland.
November 2013 //
Thanksgiving is almost here and that makes me think of all of the delicious food that I will be missing out on this year being my first year not attending my families holiday celebration. The thing that I am going to miss the most is pumpkin pie. Most people I have talked to hear in Ireland have been very confused as to why I would eat pumpkin, especially in pie. I was shocked when I found this out. As soon as November hits I start craving it’s sweet creamy deliciousness. Another thing I never really thought about was that Thanksgiving is primarily an American holiday, which I knew but didn’t really realize. That was until I came here to Ireland for three months and no one is making any plans for the holiday or even knows what day it’s on.
I am sad to be missing out on Thanksgiving but this post isn’t about that. I recently came to the realization that my father has turned me into a spaghetti snob and I don’t think that he made me that way intentionally, but nonetheless he is to blame for this. For those of you who haven’t had my dad’s spaghetti I will tell you that it is delicious and unlike any that I have ever tasted. It’s one of those passed down recipe’s that I recently acquired and have only tried to make once and it turned out really good but still not quite as good as my dad’s. Generally I would call myself a lover of spaghetti until a recent kitchen incident in the hostel where I am staying.
It was around dinner time and the other guy that is working in the hostel said that he was making spaghetti and wanted to know if I wanted any. I panicked instantly. Of course I wanted spaghetti, my mouth was watering as I remembered all the times I had eaten it in the past. Then I realized that the only times I could remember eating it was when my dad had made it and I started remembering the very few times I have eaten spaghetti made by someone that wasn’t my dad. They were terrible memories. I have never had a spaghetti that I enjoyed that was made by anyone other than my dad. At this point I realized I had been standing in the kitchen with a guy waiting on my answer as an array of emotion and awkward silence followed.
I quickly told him no thanks and he insisted for a minute that I have some, but I was more insistent and he left me alone. In this case it was lucky that I said no because I was walking through the kitchen when he had finished cooking it and immediately after being done cooking it he had to microwave it and that is not a good sign. He also didn’t eat the leftovers so I am glad I said no. However I think that I need to come up with a smoother way to bow out of eating other people’s spaghetti without looking like a crazy person or coming off as a spaghetti snob.