I grew up in a very meat and potatoes family. We ate our share of pasta, too, but, when we did, it usually wasn’t anything more than canned Prego over boxed Barilla spaghetti. If it was a leftover/fend-for-yourself night, it more than likely was ravioli prepared by the illustrious Chef Boyardee.
It wasn’t until I was about age 14 and visiting a friend’s house that I realized you could even make pasta from scratch. As my friend and I sat in the living room taking turns raiding tombs with (a-then-unheard-of) Lara Croft, I realized that the pungent smell of slow-stewed tomatoes and Italian sausage had us equally raiding the kitchen.
