Pot
Once there were pots. Pots so big that even you imagine how big that when they were found in a book of fairy tales do not like a fairy tale but a real pot at the table every day because the water was boiling in a pot and so passed a 'now that the first' boil the water looked more and more never boils inside the polished aluminum surface rippled just saying if the mother look at it never boils.
And in this pot is spaghetti tossed in some long and hard that you had cut in half you bought in some shops that kept them in some wooden drawers open and there was slanted in those stores smell of spaghetti citrate and drawers.
And after a while 'with the tip of a fork, pulled up a piece of spaghetti is long and shiny and it tasted but it was always tough and you had to wait so we tasted it again and again until you taste more and if you overcook the spaghetti for example we would start talking and joking and it takes two to raise the pot to drain the pasta in the colander to hold toss el'insalatiera was white with the huge heavy cloth around to bring it to the table.
But I do not remember, I forget the sauce. Why do most often was butter definitely some touches of butter yellow before they told us that he was no better and no butter on a butter grated cheese aged cheese and black pepper that was fun and not taken from the bottle as seen now in the ground in advertising some business faux antique.
Because once the mill was just for coffee and it took hours before grinding it with patience and looked closely at the mother who was calm and focused as he did as when stretched or when wrapped around the rolls or when he passed on the rice lentils tabletop.
And the mill? The mill is there, Above expected that you take it.
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