The Perfect Pasta

"Could it be that I had been cooking pasta incorrectly my entire life?" I wondered to myself as toothsome strands of hot linguine slid into my mouth.


I was hunched over a steaming bowl of golden pasta in a picture perfect coil, like a 60's voluminous beehive. I had come home for lunch an after surveying the contents of my refrigerator decided pasta was my best bet for a quick meal.


I set to work making an admittedly mediocre tomato sauce. I only had yellow tomatoes, garlic, shallots, white wine and anchovies from which to make sauce. It would have been better with more time and red tomatoes, but I digress.


As the yellow tomato sauce simmered and reduced I put a pot of heavily salted water on to boil. When steam peeked through the slim space between lid and pot in went the linguine. I attentively stirred the pasta. As the cooking time neared 7 minutes I tasted a single strand. It wasn't quite ready, but I tasted promise.


I drained the pasta a few minutes later, reserving a scant 1/4 cup of the pasta water to thicken the sauce, which ended up tasting alright. The pasta was fantastic. For the first time in my 23 years I understood why people adore Italian food. 


In my defense, I've never really been a pasta lover.  My experience with pasta has been tainted by overcooked lunchroom spaghetti so mushy that it could have been gummed, terrible mall food (Sbarro) and that pasta was rarely cooked at home as I was growing up. I've read enough pasta packages and food magazines to know how to cook pasta, but clearly I've been missing something. That is, until now.


With each slurp I became addicted to the faintly salty exterior, the way the pasta had substance and didn't capitulate to my teeth. It had substance, it tasted, like, well, food. It was faintly meaty in that it took some chewing. I was entranced. Clearly, I remain so.


If anyone has the secrets to cooking pasta please share!