Introspections
pasta The
Principle BY SUZANNE POLL AK
HASSAN MADE PASTA LIKE AN ITALIAN GRANDMOTHER, WITH A MOUND OF FLOUR AND AN EGG IN THE MIDDLE. HE ROLLED THE DOUGH INTO SHEETS LIKE ANTIQUE LINENS, SO THIN YOU COULD ALMOST SEE THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE, WITH A TEXTURE THAT ONLY A HANDMADE OBJECT CAN OBTAIN.
Hassan was my favorite person in all of Africa. He was our cook in Mogadishu, Somalia—the only real chef we hired while living in six countries over eighteen years, and he was an expert at feeding an entire family. He was also the largest man I’ve ever seen. His kingdom was the kitchen. It lay at the back of our house, a narrow room with a single, skinny, horizontal window high on the wall. Surprisingly for such an enormous person, Hassan’s specialty was small, tender, delicate homemade pasta, and it was the best I’ve tasted to this very day. He made pasta just like an Italian grandmother because he learned the skill from the wife of a former Italian ambassador.
