Kozelsky: The Battle of the Pasta | Lifestyles
While browsing the storage for something else, I came across the pasta making attachments that fit a KitchenAid mixer. Their pristine box still had the $120 price tag on it, and the version on sale now on KitchenAid’s website is $219. I got it for about $5 8 years ago at Bargain Fair (and the next Bargain Fair is October 1st at 242 Franklin St).
Even though I have a well-stocked kitchen, there’s always an exciting find at Bargain Fair that will up my cooking game – things I wouldn’t necessarily spend $100 or $200 on new, but they’re bargains at $5 or $10 or $20, and often still in their original packaging, looking unused.
I think of it as those weird kitchen things that people get with the best of intentions and then never get to using it – like this pasta press that I also hadn’t had a chance to use .
I had left work at 5 p.m. with the intention of cooking a delicious dinner including homemade pasta, cleaning the kitchen, doing some urgent chores, and then playing a board game with my daughter before bed.
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Thanks to the conveniences of working from home, I was still working until about 6:30 p.m., with my hungry daughter asking me when dinner would be ready.
By 7 p.m. I had made the dough for the pasta and while it was rising I washed all the parts of the pasta press and figured out how it worked and put the water to boil . “Fifteen minutes!” I said happily to my daughter.
The family tradition sauce had been cooking for 24 hours in the fancy slow cooker I bought at Bargain Fair 2 years ago and used often.
The dough should come out too firm. The machine tried and tried and tried, and I pushed and pushed and forced this inflexible dough down the chute.
My patience was finally rewarded with strands of spaghetti that came out at a snail’s pace – dark gray in places, metal pieces that had been sitting there for who knows how many years.
After several minutes the spaghetti started to come out completely clean. I threw away that first spaghetti, took the pasta press apart, rinsed everything thoroughly in boiling water, reassembled and started again.
After ages enough spaghetti came out to cut strands into the bowl and then another batch of noodles came out.
When there was almost enough to cut, the pasta press attachment came loose and swirled around the machine. For a moment, it was a glorious, if shocking, sight of a whirlwind of spaghetti swaying like 1980s headbangers at a Quiet Riot concert. Before I gathered my wits to stop it, the prop lowered and knocked the bowl to the floor, shattering the hard-fought foundation of that night’s supper.
By then it was 7:30 p.m. and I was determined to have fresh, homemade, healthy and delicious pasta for supper. A woman possessed, I washed everything again, and attacked myself again.
At 7:50 my hungry daughter came back into the kitchen and desperately asked when supper would be ready.
“In 10 minutes!” I replied cheerfully. “Set the table, please!”
“You said that an hour ago,” she replied, looking discouraged.
I explained the exploits with the machine, and she laughed and set the table.
We sat down to eat at 8:15. I expected miracles. None of the other chores or games would be done that night, but damn it, I was feeding my child properly.
Homemade pasta has been very good.
“Good?” I asked. “How do you like it?”
“The sauce is a little bitter,” she says.
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