Parma

Why I Dream of Pasta

  I awoke at 2 am this morning, dreaming of pasta. Not pasta, per se, but the act of making pasta, of making a ragged dough by dumping a heap of flour onto a kitchen table (not mine) and forming a well, adding eggs and a pinch of salt, kneading the dough into a rectangle, […]

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Five Minutes After Getting to Parma

    That’s right: Parma. Home of Prosciutto di Parma. Home of Culatello (well, almost; “Little Ass”–which will, um, probably never be gnawed upon in the United States for a variety of reasons, comes from nearby Zibello). Home of Lambrusco. And home of the hotel I’m staying in for the next few days, along with […]

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