Last night, sort of last minute, we invited regulars to the real and virtual tables, Dick and Candy, over for supper following a little reception we had at the Arts & Culture Center. John pulled some prawns from the freezer and whipped up a pasta, peas, and shrimp dish over angel hair pasta, with the usual green salad and fresh fruit.
As he brought the dish to the table, he apologized for the angel hair, said it was the only pasta we had enough of in the house. Candy and I were delighted. We like angel hair pasta. In fact it might be my favorite. But we never have it, because the boys prefer things like big penne and rigatoni, big manly pasta shapes like that.
(Which brings up a memory of a birthday dinner at our house when the children were small, with our friend Jonathan, normally a pretty liberal thinker, who got all prudish when the kids stuck their fingers into the rigatoni and sort of waved them around. He had to stop eating.)
This prompted a brief discussion: Is angel hair "chick pasta" (and what would be wrong with that I ask?)? The discussion was short-lived however, because everyone got busy eating the stuff. You know how it gets quiet when the food is good.
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