Thursday, March 27, 2008

Gimme spaghetti

Spaghetti is one of the best things invented by the Italians aside from fashion. Thinking about it now, I seem to forget the last palatable taste I had of it. It must have been ages. Aside from tortang talong and instant noodles, I would never grow tired of it. If I want to, I can eat spaghetti only even in a party full of just about everything you can grasp. I would first look for spaghetti in a table full of the humongous lechon, caldereta, barbeques or hotdogs with mallows pierced in watermelons. I love the spaghetti with tuna and tomatoes and I’m looking forward with the one with Spanish sardines on it. I need to eat spaghetti now.

Haruki Murakami must love spaghetti too. He equates it with melancholy in his short story, The Year of Spaghetti, in his collection, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. In the last portion, he writes:
Durum semolina, golden wheat wafting in the Italian fields. Can you imagine
how astonished the Italians would be if they knew that what they were exporting
in 1971 was really loneliness?

5 comments:

digitalburyong said...

haha i love that short! aside from antonioni, spaghetti is the greatest contribution of the italians to the world.

jayclops said...

oh jeez, i forgot antonioni.

jericho said...

so you're a patron of Spaghetti House?..;) i'm still loooking for the film you said. yeah, Bury my Heart was made into a movie by HBO. I've got a copy but still bidding my time before I watch it.

jayclops said...

I think we don't have that here in Davao, if there was i'd sure frequent there. hehe

Meloism said...

my love affair with pasta started, wait, i can't remember. i think it came first before books and words. try spaphetti's cousins. i recommend swiss deli. :-)

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting