First off, let me admit something I am, not proud of: I considered – briefly – calling this article “Mission: Im-pasta-ble!” (I also batted around “Lotsa Pasta” and “Fiori to Pastina: The Existential Gulf Between Perceived Inferiority of Minutia in Extruded Grains and the Lasting Psychological Imprint of Indecision on the Amateur Chef.”) For some reason I feel like getting that off my chest in this public forum will reduce my shame; only time will tell.
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A-ha! I knew it. And so did you. Maybe it started out as a sneaking suspicion… perhaps one you thought you alone were harboring? It gnawed at you while you tried to make pleasant conversation at a neighborhood cookout. It bothered you while you tried in vain to enjoy your aunt’s “famous” lasagna. It kept you up night after night, likely as you plastered countless clipped articles and post-it notes and pushpins forming a vague but gathering pattern on a huge bulletin board and if you study the strange spirals over here that form when you track developments spanning from Akron to Macon to Cleveland to… OK, maybe not… not this that depth.
If you have never heard of the Amalfi Coast, let me assure you it is much more than the place where I got stung by a jellyfish. Even though that did happen, and it was terrible, yes, there is much more to the region; indeed it is one of Italy’s most beautiful coastal areas, and in a country that is by in large beautiful coastline, that’s saying something.