Feb 12 2007
The Great Gnocchi Fiasco of 2007
The first time I ever traveled to Europe was with my then girlfriend, now wife, Tina, and her parents, Manfred and Marion. It was 1999. One night in the lake region of Northern Italy, I ate my first bowl of fresh gnocchi with pesto sauce and fell in love — with the pasta. I was already in love with Tina. Years later, this past Christmas in fact, Tina’s parents gave me a little gnocchi roller and a few good recipes to try.
An occasion arose for my first pasta-making effort in the form of our friend Jan’s yearly birthday tapas party. I was warned by several considerate folks to practice making the dish on my own before attempting to serve it to ten people for such an auspicious event — but did I listen? Of course not. And my gnocchi promptly disintegrated in the pot as we put it to a boil in the midst of a lovely dinner party. Fortunately for me, there was lots of scotch on hand, and Marion and Manfred had also given me a beautiful bag of colored pasta for Christmas, which I brought as a backup.
Last night we gave it another try at our place, and this time — with Jan’s expert dough-making advice — the gnocchi was a huge success, served with fresh pesto made in part from basil grown on our porch. Photos below of me and my Billy-Sonoma potato ricer, and Jan with his belated birthday gnocchi.
