Gnocchi

What other meal does the hand agonize over each ingredient like pasta?

Bread, I suppose.

Which is why I love making both staples from scratch as much as possible.

This week, I made gnocchi for the first time for visiting in-laws. The laborious task of handling each piece of pasta was the type of moving meditation I enjoy best.

When I work with dough like this I have two overwhelming feelings. The first feeling is riddled with pressure of time constraints. I’m no good at practicing recipes ahead of time. I am willing to gamble on an entire meal with a first attempt. If I fail, I can always boil store-bought pasta, right?

The second feeling is much more heartfelt. It’s the feeling I get when I connect to something older and bigger than me. Preparing meals like gnocchi entangle me with an ancient lineage of mothers and grandmothers from nations I’ll never see. Mothers who sweat in their kitchen with overwhelming love and the unyielding duty of nourishing their people.

These unseen figures in the kitchen with me bring the brightest of delight in my heart as I cook.

With a new gnocchi board in my arsenal, I was eager to break it in. I did not, however, have a ricer. The upper body workout mashing the potatoes through a colander was eye-opening to say the least. Yet rolling each piece of pasta off the lip of the gnocchi board made me giggle as each nugget of dough soar through the air; landing on a flour-dusted sheet pan.

The results? Truly, the best collaborative meal of the year.

Alongside some very special waguyu steaks grilled by Zachary, roasted garlic haricot vert, chocolate pot de creme and a gifted bottle of 2014 Clos de Bois the al fresco feast was unforgettable indeed.