Memories of Penne

This morning, as I was sorting through my pantry trying to find a healthy snack to bring to work (so I avoid the 3pm call of the vending machine), I gleamed over a box of penne rigate.

And, just like that, memories of Nonno D came racing to the forefront of my mind. It caused me pause and I remembered that this month marks the sixth anniversary of his death. Like most memories of Nonno, it brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye.

Penne is and will forever be one of those words that I directly and fundamentally associate with my Nonno. Penne with tomato sauce was his ultimate, his sacred cow of all foods. And, when he was eating it or telling you that he had a plate for lunch or dinner, his grin would stretch wide across his face in sheer delight.

It wasn't simply that he enjoyed it, he was passionate about his pasta. An equal lover of pasta, I remember being a child debating with my grandfather - he in his broken English, me in my Italian-accented English - on which cut of pasta was the best.

My favourite was linguine, which he'd tell me was a good choice; he never fully disagreed with his "ninis" (a pet word he gave to all his grandchildren). But, he did trump my choice: "penne are the best. Rigate, non lisce." (in pasta talk, rigate is with "lines" or ribs and lisce is without). The reason for this specification, serving as both food and life lessons, is that with the ribbing the sauce adheres to the pasta and you get to enjoy the best of both worlds - pasta and sauce. With lisce, the sauce slips off the pasta pieces, leaving you with a pool of sauce at the bottom of your plate after you've eaten rather bland pasta.

He was right and to honor his memory I've never willingly eaten penne lisce - it would simply be a waste of enjoyment. And, life is meant to be enjoyed.