After a 15-minute car ride and many turns, I suddenly felt nauseated. I tried my best not to throw up, but in the end, everything that I ate shortly before was spilled.
What a shame, I hate emptied my tiny stomach, and now I was hungrier then before. We reached our destination when we arrived at my paternal grandma’s a small town.
She lived on the top of a hill, in what felt like an actual royal palace! Unlike other houses, grandma’s had a huge, majestic garden, next to which a 12th-century abbey rose.
As I admired the house, a huge door opened, and there was my grandma, ready to welcome us! As always, she filled my face with kisses when she saw me.
She took me straight to the kitchen, and I was astonished by how the table looked with all the special courses she had cooked from scratch! There was delicious, homemade Troccoli, coming out of a horizontal guitar. She placed some dough on it and, with a rolling pin and a bit of elbow grease, rolled it, making lots of spaghetti-like strands of pasta called Troccoli. She also made meatballs in tomato sauce to go with the pasta, filling the house with their amazing smell.
I was heady with joy, and seeing how impatient I was to taste everything and how captivated I was by her gesture, my grandma handed me a piece of meatballs after making sure it wasn’t too hot. I couldn’t believe it: I loved my grandma, but in that moment, I loved her meatballs even more!
She saw the gratitude in my eyes and put another one on my plate. I was so surprised that I grabbed it with my hand, trying to fit it in my mouth. She quickly took it away and cut it into small, bite-sized pieces. “Oh no, I lost my chance to eat like a big boy“ , Ithought. But without loosing my spirit, I resolved, “Next time, I’ll open my mouth as wide as I can”.
After impatiently waiting for four hours for my relatives to finish eating and given that I had only tasted the meatball, I figured it was about time I found a way to try the homemade troccoli. I had seen the whole process and I memorised every step; I couldn’t miss the chance to taste them. I had an idea: acting skittish with my dad. He could not resist me and, after giving me a long smile, took me in his arms and sat on his chair.
There was a lonely troccolo sticking out of this plate. It wasn’t whole, sadly, but it was the only one available. Once again, I waited for him to be distracted, and with the swift movement, I took the unlucky troccolo and ate it. I thought ”I did it!” It was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten, an amazing, unforgettable taste.
It was my grandma’s homemade pasta, and being a good Italian, I already knew after that after that day, I wouldn’t be able to do without her Majesty, the PASTA!