It has been a life dream of mine to make spaghetti from scratch. I mean to make it completely by myself, with no middle man whatsoever. And I don’t even want to have to buy the seeds for the wheat. I want this to be completely of my own making.
First I would like to grow the wheat myself in my backyard. Then I would like to thrush it and prepare it and grind it and then use the flour to make my own spaghetti. Of course I would like to do the same with tomatos, and why not have a cow in the backyard to make a good bolognase, and don’t forget the basil and all the garlic and the many other things that make a good spaghetti. Of course I would have to use the milk from the cow to make some good butter. I wouldn’t buy anything from the store. There would be no middle-man whatsoever. If I could I would catch a wild cow myself. And I would try to find wild wheat and basil and tomatos and garlic and then use all those that I had gathered to create my spaghetti garden in the backyard.
But where am I going to find and catch a wild cow? And is there really any wild wheat that hasn’t been genetically modified? Can I really make my spaghetti without any other human influence. And what’s more is my beliefs. I believe that God is a man, and didn’t he create everything in this world. How am I supposed to remove that middle man?
And what about the recipe for spaghetti in the first place? Aren’t I beholden to that man, or to all the Italians and even Americans who have contributed to the development of the spaghetti that I have come to love. Can I ever remove all the memories that my mother has created for me, as she cooked spaghetti dinner after spaghetti dinner? Those memories that linger in my mind with fondness. The tomato sauces that I have hated, the restaurants that I have patroned, the friends, the blog posts, the websites, the movies, the cooks, everything that has influenced my ultimate opinion of spaghetti all of these things I owe and have to account to in my search for a spaghetti that has no middle man whatsoever.
And so my romantic dream of unearthing garlic at the dawn of the morning, pretending that it is at the dawn of time, is cover in the muddy realization that someone was the first person to taste this garlic and discover that it is delicious when minced and cooked in olive oil. My tomatos have rot when I realize that there is no possible way to remove all the genetic modification, all of the peanut genes that prevent any rot or bug bites or lackluster appearance. The perfect sheen on the skin of my tomato is artificial, and I would never have the same privelege as Adam did.
And yet here I am lamenting the enculturation and the beautiful refinement what has been passed down to me from man through the ages. Did Adam know spaghetti? When he walked in the Garden of Eden with God did The Father reminisce about all the spaghetti meals he had? “And when you’re cast out of the garden Adam, if you don’t remember anything at all, then at least remember spaghetti. It will get you through many hard days,” or did he say, “Adam, why don’t we make some spaghetti together? You go on over there and pick some of those basil leaves and tomatos, and I’ll come over here and get some wheat and olives, and we’ll meet back here and I’ll show you my favorite recipe of spaghetti.”
Even though I cannot completely remove the middle man, isn’t it the taint of prior men that gives spaghetti its flavor? My father-in-law told me just yesterday that there is a certain delicious cheese that is made in Mexico. The Mexican people, so he says, put the cheese in thier bathtubs without first cleaning the bathtub. He claims that they know there is bacteria there and that makes it all the better. This brings out the flavor; it makes it all the more cultured.
There. That’s the idea. Cheese cultures. Spaghetti has been cultured, just like cheese is cultured, but instead of thousands of bacteria doing work upon the dairy, there are thousands of people doing work upon the idea of spaghetti.