Pasta nazi

My boyfriend is a pasta nazi. 

Last week, Fabio and I had a Canadian rendezvous in Whistler, British Columbia.  He was in Vancouver for work and pathetically, meeting in southwestern Canada is convenient since we’re normally much farther apart in NYC and Italy.  It was a super fun, sunny time.  Fabio was very modest about his skiing abilities… he’s insanely good at it.  But waited for me at the end of every run.  Jeez I am slow.  And he is incredibly sweet.

Regardless, he is still a pasta nazi.  He cooked for me 2 nights at the condo.   Delicious pasta both nights. The second night, we couldn’t find anchovies for the sauce he wanted to make.  So I threw out approximately 4 ad hoc things we could do with the pasta based on other ingredients I saw in the grocery store…  these were all dismissed with the statement “that is not pasta“.  In frustration and hunger, I finally swore that I would never, EVER cook pasta for him…EVER!!!  To which he only slyly grinned…  no doubt his intent.  Evil Italian boyfriend.

Thank gawd we eventually found the anchovies strangely placed in the refrigerator section between some olive paste and processed ham.  Here is a photo of the tasty result with the elusive anchovy box. 

 

pasta deliziosa