The other day I made homemade pasta. I envisioned something elegant, thin, smooth, uniform, reminiscent of fettucini.
Having none but the most primitive tools for the job, I began to be discouraged by the rather rustic appearance my pasta was presenting.
The dough was behaving rather well, in spite of my frustration and an unshakeable conviction that this meal was not going to look pretty... (For those of you who are interested, the aforesaid dough had a remarkable propensity for elasticity that was quite fascinating!)
... The semi-finished product.
I preserved, cooked the pasta, and served it to my victims with fresh pesto.
And the result, though different from anything you've ever tasted before, was quite good, if I may say so. The description is quite beyond me - rustic, thick, grainy, uneven, the opposite of what I'd imagined.
However, it was good. As clearly proven by the fact that all traces had vanished in about ten minutes.
Who needs a pasta machine, anyway?