"W-all dente"...
One last WallStory, and I'm done. Or rather, the spaghetti is. You know, of course, how to check if your spaghetti is done 'al dente'...toss some at the nearest wall. If it sticks, it's perfect; if it slithers down like an eel on steroids, it needs more doing; if it wraps itself tightly around your neck, you need an exorcist and don't forget to hang some garlic out by the front door to confuse the vampires.
So way back when I was in my extended PleasePassTheParmigianoWithEverything phase, it was pasta whenever I had friends over to dinner. For three good reasons: 1. Everybody loves pasta; 2. It's the easiest thing to do; and 3. If you organize it right, you also get wall-art for free.
The last point evolved slowly, from a stray al-dente test that went public one evening, to a full-fledged tradition that typically consumed a whole pot of this-is-for-the-wall pasta at least once a month.
It all began one Friday evening after work, when some friends stopped by for a drink, and stayed on for dinner. I was checking to see if the pasta was done, when one of them walked into the kitchen and loudly asked why I was flinging the dinner at the wall. And if I was doing it, he wanted to do it too. Suddenly, everybody is in the kitchen, the noise has woken the neighbour's dogs who are barking their heads off, and steaming hot spaghetti is flailing through the air leaving contrails, slapping into faces and splatting onto everything in sight.
Dinner, of course, was by then incidental. But we had established a pasta-flinging tradition which continued for several years, albeit with a minor adjustment.
Since the kitchen was miniscule, the wall behind the dining table became the designated 'W-all dente'. As time went by, I learnt that hunger puts an edge on the appetite AND the wall art. Since dinner was rarely served before midnight, several guests would have customarily dozed off, standing straight up. The rest, having imbibed enough 85 proof alcohol to render their pasta-throwing techniques wildly inspirational, would set upon the hapless mass of steaming spaghetti and toss it at said wall with gay abandon and greater gusto.
Tossing styles varied, with everyone intent on perfecting their personal flick-of-the-wrist technique. This made for intricate slither-trails, with overdone strands melded to the wall at the point of contact, ends curling in disdain as they dried. Regular dinnertime returnees would closely inspect the wall to see if their last pasta throw was still up, with their signatures, or had been replaced by newer, more artistic tosses...with other signatures.
While it's all jolly good fun while it's actually happening, I must say here that pasta art is at its best when it's fresh. It is not the sort of thing you want to wake up to on a Saturday morning and contemplate for any length of time. Besides which, dried-on-the-wall pasta is difficult to remove, and sometimes annexes bits of plaster and wall when you try and rip it off.
By now, the 'W-all Dente' was looking positively leprous, despite all my attempts at patching it up with putty and giving it a lick of fresh paint once every few months.
And then, the disaster of the dried-on spaghetti neapolitan. This was never the plan, mind you, but pasta artists six sails to the wind do not take kindly to "NO sauce!" rules. One night, an entire plateful of pasta- sauce, fork and all- found itself hurled at the Wall. I assure you, right then it was a whole lot funnier than it sounds. Abject apologies from the inebriated pasta-thrower in question, coupled with his inept attempts at a clean-up, provoked me into throwing several pods of garlic at him in quick succession.
By next morning, I began to see that the Universe was trying to tell me something. I was fresh out of 'al dente' wallspace. The lease was up in 2 weeks and the landlord, an ogre, wanted a rent increase I couldn't afford. Last night's spaghetti was still leering at me off the Wall, with bits of tomato adhering to it, looking like I don't even want to SAY what...and the neighbours had deposited a pile of dog poo at my gate. Maybe it was time to move house?
So way back when I was in my extended PleasePassTheParmigianoWithEverything phase, it was pasta whenever I had friends over to dinner. For three good reasons: 1. Everybody loves pasta; 2. It's the easiest thing to do; and 3. If you organize it right, you also get wall-art for free.
The last point evolved slowly, from a stray al-dente test that went public one evening, to a full-fledged tradition that typically consumed a whole pot of this-is-for-the-wall pasta at least once a month.
It all began one Friday evening after work, when some friends stopped by for a drink, and stayed on for dinner. I was checking to see if the pasta was done, when one of them walked into the kitchen and loudly asked why I was flinging the dinner at the wall. And if I was doing it, he wanted to do it too. Suddenly, everybody is in the kitchen, the noise has woken the neighbour's dogs who are barking their heads off, and steaming hot spaghetti is flailing through the air leaving contrails, slapping into faces and splatting onto everything in sight.
Dinner, of course, was by then incidental. But we had established a pasta-flinging tradition which continued for several years, albeit with a minor adjustment.
Since the kitchen was miniscule, the wall behind the dining table became the designated 'W-all dente'. As time went by, I learnt that hunger puts an edge on the appetite AND the wall art. Since dinner was rarely served before midnight, several guests would have customarily dozed off, standing straight up. The rest, having imbibed enough 85 proof alcohol to render their pasta-throwing techniques wildly inspirational, would set upon the hapless mass of steaming spaghetti and toss it at said wall with gay abandon and greater gusto.
Tossing styles varied, with everyone intent on perfecting their personal flick-of-the-wrist technique. This made for intricate slither-trails, with overdone strands melded to the wall at the point of contact, ends curling in disdain as they dried. Regular dinnertime returnees would closely inspect the wall to see if their last pasta throw was still up, with their signatures, or had been replaced by newer, more artistic tosses...with other signatures.
While it's all jolly good fun while it's actually happening, I must say here that pasta art is at its best when it's fresh. It is not the sort of thing you want to wake up to on a Saturday morning and contemplate for any length of time. Besides which, dried-on-the-wall pasta is difficult to remove, and sometimes annexes bits of plaster and wall when you try and rip it off.
By now, the 'W-all Dente' was looking positively leprous, despite all my attempts at patching it up with putty and giving it a lick of fresh paint once every few months.
And then, the disaster of the dried-on spaghetti neapolitan. This was never the plan, mind you, but pasta artists six sails to the wind do not take kindly to "NO sauce!" rules. One night, an entire plateful of pasta- sauce, fork and all- found itself hurled at the Wall. I assure you, right then it was a whole lot funnier than it sounds. Abject apologies from the inebriated pasta-thrower in question, coupled with his inept attempts at a clean-up, provoked me into throwing several pods of garlic at him in quick succession.
By next morning, I began to see that the Universe was trying to tell me something. I was fresh out of 'al dente' wallspace. The lease was up in 2 weeks and the landlord, an ogre, wanted a rent increase I couldn't afford. Last night's spaghetti was still leering at me off the Wall, with bits of tomato adhering to it, looking like I don't even want to SAY what...and the neighbours had deposited a pile of dog poo at my gate. Maybe it was time to move house?
posted by Priya Tuli at
3:03 PM
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