Ritual Pasta Novels & Stories

Rosita's POV I twirled the pasta around my fork, the cheesy, golden strands sticking together. Pasta carbonara, Fernando had called it. I hadn’t tasted anything properly since… since the poison. I lifted the fork to my mouth, the first bite a timid offering to my recovering senses.

Stellina told Martha to prepare a special meal for her father. "Prepare the best ingredients immediately, Martha. Papa will be here soon. We haven't seen each other for a long time and I hope he's happy with your cooking." said Stellina. "Yes, ma'am. We will prepare a special menu for Mr. Eston. Does Madame have any special requests?" Martha asked back. "My father loves pasta. Make the most delicious pasta carbonara. Spaghetti pasta with a sauce of mixed eggs, cheese, selected herbs and the best bacon."

Maybe these housekeepers don’t even know what the ceremony is about or that I am going to be sacrificed tonight, maybe they are clueless. However that is not going to stop be from be a sarcastic b**** tonight. I opened the silver lid and saw a mouth-watering pasta dish. I took my first bite and savoured the flavour, however I couldn’t bring myself to take another bite. I wasn’t nauseas or anything, it’s just that I didn’t see the point of eating when I was about to die.

1 tbsp oil, 250 g bacon, strips, 1/2 cup button mushroom, canned, sliced, 1/2 cup onion, white, chopped, 2 pouches DEL MONTE Carbonara Sauce (200g), 1/2 tsp salt, 1/2 tsp pepper, black, 1/3 cup butter, 1/2 cup cheese, grated, 1/4 cup parsley, chopped and 1 pack DEL MONTE Spaghetti (400g). I prepared a pot and boiled the pasta. When the pasta is cooked, I reserved 1 cup of water for the pasta. I discarded the excess water and dried it. I put it back on the stove. I sauté the bacon in oil until browned and removed the bacon and set it aside. In the same pot, I sauté the mushroom for 2 minutes. Add onion and sauté until translucent. I added the reserved pasta water and DEL MONTE Carbonara Sauce

"I'm hungry. And Nonna Violetta said she was making the pasta with the special cheese." Rhys glanced at his watch. Six forty-five. Violetta—his mother's best friend who'd stepped in to help raise R after his mother's death—would indeed be making dinner right now. R's favorite pasta with the imported parmesan that cost a ridiculous amount but was worth it for the smile it put on his son's face. "Let's go see if dinner is ready," Rhys said, standing and offering his hand to R, who immediately took it and allowed himself to be helped out of the blanket fort.

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.

It's funny because after we became dogs and cats, here we are, happily exchanging stories. "You know, even your mood is also talking to you, huh! But I didn't think that after being a stranger we would be like this," she laughed as she stabbed the pasta with a fork. I ordered specialty pasta that we have that the ingredient of it is white and kinds of seafood. "It's delicious, isn't it? Can we get some to bring home?" she asked and I smiled because she liked our specialty pasta. "Sure! I'll have the chef make a new one for auntie." I yelled at him because of his choking. I quickly reached for the tea juice because of what had happened.

In forty minutes the sauce was ready, fragrant and steaming, and only then did he boil water to cook the newly made pasta. Dahlia seemed to be watching a miraculous experiment, congratulating the girl at each stage until the pasta was ready, cooked and ready to be eaten. The mother went to call her son, who was still working, excited, she told him about the process she had watched, and Otávio listened to his mother, without expressing any reaction. He sat down with the two women at the table, who kept talking, and the mother served him a generous portion of pasta and poured a substantial amount of sauce over the pasta. Clara sprinkled on plate three, grated cheese. It was still eighteen o'cl

“You might actually be onto something! Who wouldn’t want to watch that?” Rita came back into the dining room, carrying several packets of God knows what. “Alright, I have the ingredients for a pasta dish! Get ready to be amazed.” “Pasta? Wasn’t that the first thing you tried to cook when you almost burnt your house down?” I teased, raising my hands high up in the air and laughing again. “Okay, you’re really ruining my moment here!” She yelled playfully, placing her hands on her waist. “You are supposed to be supportive, you know!”

“You want me to go back to pretending I’m the world’s best brother?” “Yes!” Alfonso barked without hesitation. “But save it for your birthday—since she won’t be honoring the tradition.” He finished, leaving the room without granting his son a chance to reply. “What a damn punishment,” Giuliano muttered, irritated, just when he thought he was finally done with the farce. Back at the apartment, Vittoria finished setting the table, adjusting the final details with care, making sure everything was just right. At the center sat a serving dish of tagliatelle al ragù alla bolognese—fresh pasta wrapped in a rich, slow-cooked tomato and meat sauce, releasing an irresistible aroma of herbs and spices.