I Eat Pasta For Breakfast Novels & Stories

I turned around to see four people looking at me in shock. "What?" I questioned them. "You know you just hugged the person who hated hugs when he was child" Ivy pointed out. Another of his facts. I jotted down in my mind. "Maybe, he changed his preference" I shrugged my shoulders walking towards the kitchen and opening the fridge. Luckily some of the leftover pasta was there. "Anybody hungry?" I asked them and they all shook their head in a no. "Well, I must warn you, for you are missing the best pasta made on the planet earth. I warmed the pasta and devoured it, moans threatening to come out of my mouth. It was so not my fault it still tasted so amazing.

“What happened to the 'always be neat' guy?“ I let him walk past me into the room before locking the door once again. “Well, hello to you too.” I ignored his sarcasm and sat on the bed beside him. I knew why he was here this early in the morning but I pretended not to have any idea of what it was. “So what made you cook me breakfast?” I brought the tray closer to me and my mouth watered at the sight of the food. He prepared my favorite, which was stir fried pasta with lots of beef and chicken. At how hungry I was, I was sure I would be asking for more after I had finished the one on my plate.

Ahhh this man , I swear in my entire life no one and literally no one ever irritated or pissed me off as much as this man did in just one day but I am not gonna lose to him. Before we could talk further the waiters served our breakfast. Bagels with eggs , bacon and salad on the side, a typical New Yorker breakfast. Well who's complaining it looks delicious and I am hungry the conversation with Dante can wait, but my stomach can't. So I took a bite of my food enjoying it and God it was heavenly delicious.

I wondered why since he seemed to have slept very well last night. " Can we eat already?" Someone said and the food started coming in. They were all men dressed in white suits and they placed everyone's food in front of them. Then the chef said, " A breakfast meal of; Scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, baked beans, black pudding or white pudding, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes, toast, and tea." I sighed at how boring the breakfast was I was expecting a "Zillion dollar lobster frittata" worthy kind of meal. Elizabeth walked in as the food was being served and greeted everyone before she sat beside me.

Hearing my words, Lilia was a bit stunned. Instead of getting a "proper" tip, she was yelled at. Lilia didn't dare to say anything. She hurriedly went to prepare breakfast. But when she was cooking the spaghetti, I said, "Hey, you! Why it takes so long to make breakfast? "It's pasta, not a turkey. Are you trying to starve me to death? "Forget it. I'll go out and eat my breakfast." Lilia froze. Never before had she been scolded by me.

"What kind of pasta were you making before you destroyed the bowl?" "Penne with arrabbiata sauce. The bowl was a casualty of war." "Is there anything left to eat, or did you sacrifice the entire meal?" "The pasta survived. The sauce survived. The bowl did not. I have already cleaned up the glass and there is a plate waiting for you in the kitchen. You need to eat, Eve. You barely touched your breakfast this morning."

Yes, just the perfect moment, I was lucky enough that food was coming. "You can never go wrong with pasta," Mariana said, as she set the table. "You're definitely right." I smiled, wanting to engage her in a conversation so she doesn't think I'm in a hurry to eat. Although I was, and I could eat her too if she gives me the opportunity. "Is pasta your go to food too when you're famished after a long day at work?" She asked, her eyes lit up. "Sure, it's easy to prepare." I nodded, holding my fork and knife.

“Several things were prepared last night and partially chilled so they’d stay fresh. Mr. Ricciardi asked that everything be ready this morning.” I stopped pouring warm water. “What’s on the menu?” “Almond cornetti, zucchini frittata, focaccia, roasted tomatoes, small mushroom tarts, and pomodoro sauce for the eggs. There’s also fruit and yogurt for the children.” Almond cornetti. That hit me in a completely unnecessary way before six-thirty in the morning because five years ago in Lake Como, there had been a period when I pretended not to like pretty Italian breakfasts and Rafael pretended not to notice that I always took the last almond cornetto.

If I don't do this, there's no way she'll let me have a taste of it today. "Don't push your luck Lilly, you're not going to have a taste of this." She huffed, as she opened her plate, and that was when I realized that she bought hot pasta for breakfast. Oh my God! This girl is so sweet, she knows I love pasta. "Whoa! Pasta!" I exclaimed, and quickly went to sit on my spot and started devouring the food hungrily.

He rolled up his sleeves. He cracked the eggs into a bowl, separating yolks from whites with skilled hands. From the pantry, he found pasta—spaghetti. Not traditional for breakfast, but he didn’t care. He was Italian. He was raised on carbonara. Soon the condo filled with the aroma of sizzling guanciale, the sharp bite of pecorino romano melting into creamy egg yolk. Pepper cracked fresh over the bubbling sauce. The scent alone could raise the dead—or at least, tempt the sleeping.