I found dried Capellini, mini Ravioli, Orzo 47 (presumably there are at least 46 other varieties of Orso), Spaghetti, Linguini (regular and whole wheat), Fusilli, Tortellini, Fettuccini, Farfalle (in four colors), Tagliolini (in three colors), a Fantasy package, which had described contents of six colors, and an observed fifteen shapes, and some non-Italian varieties including Pansit (Filipino), Bahn Pho (Thai rice sticks), and a non-descript egg white pasta with no cholesterol, presumably better for us than what came from Italy. I would have found Macaroni, but she used it Wednesday night for Mac and Cheese.
I confess most of that came from my Trader Joe purchases, and probably over a long period of time. One has a short memory of what one stores deep in the pantry, and I do have an inclination to impulse-shop at TJs. But my exploration started me thinking…
Many years ago, while skiing in New England, a friend shared what may or may not be a truism: the Aleut language has two-hundred words for snow. The concept is that if variations are meaningful, new descriptions are necessary to differentiate the variations. Maybe you can’t drink some snow (I know I wouldn’t). Maybe some snow makes Igloos and other snow doesn’t. Maybe some snow stores blubber better than other snow. You get the idea. For some reason English doesn’t feel that necessity. True, in Wisconsin snow is pretty much snow. It falls, gets shoveled, melts and life goes on. But even in California where this year a drought was pronounced “over” because the moisture content of the mountain snowpack was 131% of normal instead of normal, the Governor didn’t feel the need to rename that snow.
It just doesn’t seem important.
The Italians need different names for their pasta because they put stuff on it that needs to be featured in the best possible manner. Some sauces need tubes to deliver the correct amount of sauce. Some need small shapes or large, flat surfaces, to enhance flavors. Some need fillings to augment the classic sauce and provide variety. While I don’t claim to have the best recipe for even the pastas in my pantry, I understand the concept.
Maybe our experience increases our vocabulary. I know that is true with my six-year old grandson. I like to think of him as a protected eater. His parents have always encouraged him to eat familiar foods, under the premise that he would then be more likely to approach a meal as a communal event. The fact that it hasn’t worked, doesn’t seem to deter my son from bringing familiar food for Ethan when they join us for the occasional supper.
Ethan’s protein vocabulary is limited when it comes to meat. He recognizes, eats, and seems to enjoy chicken, hamburger, an occasional hot dog (but does not recognize the word sausage), and lately he has learned to enjoy and even ask for ribs. Everything else is labeled and spoken of as “steak”. That includes every kind of traditional beef cuts, commonly called steak, as well as all roasts, tenderloins, and pork of any fashion.
Since he now lives across the street and common meals are becoming more frequent, I don’t mind this affectation, as he seems to be more adventurous in his choices, but I feel the vocabulary limitation may slow down his maturation process in food selection, once he moves out of fast food dining. Oh, and last week his dad didn’t bring anything and he ate the whole meal; “Could I have some more potatoes?”
In response to Mary’s answer about a Mother’s Day gift, I may change the menu tomorrow from Beer-can Chicken with potatoes, gravy and Fava Beans to some sort of pasta. Or I may just plan menus for my once-a-week cooking that use some of our supply.
On another note, if you haven’t yet read Billy Collin’s poem, “The Lanyard” visit http://www.billy-collins.com/2005/06/the_lanyard.html in preparation for Mother’s Day, and get your mind set tuned for the proper appreciation. You won’t be disappointed.
