I love pasta.
我喜欢吃意面。
I’m not Italian, nor o I know anyone who is. I’m a half-Polish, half-German ki from Bouler, Colorao. I shoul instea crave perogies, wienerschnitzel, or maybe vegan avocao toast sprinkle with microgreens.
我不是意大利人，并且也不认识任何意大利人。我是一个来自科罗拉多州博尔德市，半波兰半德国血统的孩子。比起意面来，我更应该喜欢吃波兰饺子、维也纳炸肉排、或是撒着嫩青的酪梨烤面包。
So why exactly o I love pasta? Memories.
所以，我喜欢意面的由来又是什么呢？因为回忆。
When I was seven, my favorite restaurant, Nooles, ha mac-n-cheese that was legenary. However, it playe secon file to Pasta Fresca, my little secret that hi own on the bottom right of the menu. I woul orer it every time, exactly the same: extra tomatoes, half spinach, ouble feta. Perfection.
在我七岁的时候，我喜欢一间名为Nooles的餐厅，他们有着无与伦比的芝士焗通心粉。但是对于Pasta Fresca的餐厅来说，他们只能屈居第二。我把这个秘密藏在了菜单的最深处。每次我都想点同一道菜，提出同样的要求：双倍羊乳酪，加倍西红柿，多半份菠菜，完美。
But with my insatiable esire for perfection, came complications; it was impossible for a seven-year-ol to routinely fin his way to Nooles, come up with $8.50, an convince the cashier that No, I am not lost, an Yes, I know the feta will cost extra. Therefore, I ha to get creative. Arme with a to-go menu an one brief shopping trip later, I attempte to make Pasta Fresca. I unfortunately learne, however, that an ingreient list alone contains no inication of measurement; a teaspoon quickly turns into a tablespoon. The result was a soupy, vinegary mess. That magic touch, that fresca, was missing. In fact, calling it Pasta Fresca woul’ve been a crime. But it was my own–I mae that pasta an there was something powerful in that.
然而我对完美的近乎执着的追求，却不是那么容易所能实现的。对于一个七岁的小男孩来说，拿着8.5美金，独自找到去Nooles的路，还要说服收银员： “不，我并不是走丢了 ”和“ 是，我知道再加一份羊乳酪会额外收费 ”，这简直是天方夜谭。因此，我只能开足脑筋来尝试做一份Pasta Fresca。在带着便携菜单购物之后，我遗憾的发现，材料表上并没有标注出合适的分量。我只能在茶匙抑或汤匙的计量中苦苦挣扎。最后的成果只是一团糟，一团像汤一样酸乎乎的东西。应有的鲜美，应现的魔法，都不见了。实际上，这一团酸乎乎的东西，压根就配不上Pasta Fresca这个名字。但，这是只属于我自己的Pasta Fresca——这是我亲手做的意面，我为我自己能做出它而感到骄傲。
Five years later, that warm glow of prie of my foray into Pasta Fresca was long gone. I ha hit rock bottom. It was winter an I was living with my best frien. Sleing, snowball fights, an hot cocoa fille our ays. So, how oes a twelve-year-ol living his ream hit rock bottom?
五年后，第一次做意面的自豪感早已消逝，我落入了人生的谷底。那是一个冬天，我和我最好的朋友一起生活。我们的日子被滑雪橇，打雪仗和热巧克力所填满。是什么能让一个十二岁的活在梦里的孩子突然坠入人生的谷底呢？
Cancer.
癌症。
My brother Klaus was iagnose with a rare form of chilhoo sarcoma that force my family to New York City for treatment, while I was stuck in col Colorao. Days ble into weeks, weeks into months of simply grining away at school, craving the comfort of sleep, where I coul forget my anxiety for a while. My sole comfort, the one thing that turne the worst of weeks into something bearable, was Gruffalo Pasta. Contrary to the name, it containe no mythical beast; it was simply penne with meat sauce, an yet there was something magical about it. Every Friay night, my frien’s family an I woul sit own an eat Gruffalo Pasta with their famous garlic cheesy brea (worthy of its own essay). Laughs rang out as we playe games, watche movies, an went sleing–we woul be a family. Although my real family was thousans of miles away, every Friay night, home felt tangible.
我的弟弟Klaus被诊断出患有一种罕见的儿童恶性肉瘤，迫使我们全家，除了我，搬去纽约为他治病。而我则被留在了寒冷的科罗拉多。时光飞逝，日月如梭。每当白天我便独自一人在学校消磨着时间，渴望着睡眠时的温暖。只有在入睡后，我才能暂时的远离我的焦虑。还好，起码我有Gruffalo（直译为咕噜牛） Pasta在，给我最后的安慰，陪我度过最难熬的时光。恰恰和它的名字相反，这种意面和什么神秘怪兽没有丝毫联系，就是由简简单单的肉酱和通心粉所制成，可其中却又有些许的神奇之处。每当周五傍晚，我会和我朋友的家人坐在一起，配上可口的芝士蒜蓉面包（这芝士蒜蓉面包其中的故事，待日后我为你娓娓道来）分享Gruffalo Pasta。随着我们一起玩游戏，看电影，滑雪橇——就好像我们是一家人一样。即使，我真正的家人们与我相隔了几千英里，“家”这个词对我来说，也从虚无缥缈的词汇变成了触手可及的东西。
When my family returne, spring gave way to summer, an with it came neverening afternoons of skinne knees, balls lost over fences, new neighborhoo friens, an Mac n’ Cheese. We rippe through box after box, new faces cycling through the kitchen as mac n’ cheese lunches became a neighborhoo traition. There was a sense of inepenence that came with it, as us kis cooke it ourselves–exactly how we like it. We ae extra butter an milk, peas, chicken, bacon; whatever our little hearts esire. The ays seeme infinite, brimming with possibility an spontaneity, with the comfort that there was always a mac n’ cheese lunch at someone’s house to look forwar to.
当我的家人回到科罗拉多之时，春去夏来。随之而来的，还有仿佛无尽的午后。我们肆无忌惮的玩着，闹着，擦破了膝盖，踢飞了皮球。当然，还有新搬来的邻居，和芝士焗通心粉。我们孩子在纸箱之间打闹，在各家厨房穿梭，芝士焗通心粉成了邻里关系中不可或缺的一部分。我们小孩子自己做的时候，就会喜欢什么加什么。多加黄油，多放牛奶，豌豆，鸡肉，培根，我们想放什么，就放什么。随之而来的，就是一种自由自在，当家作主的快感。这种日子似乎就可以一直这么持续下去，给我们无穷的可能和无尽的动力。我们总知道，总会有下一家的芝士焗通心粉，可以让我们发挥一场。
Pasta continues to weave its threa through my life, from the Christmas inners of Pasta Puttanesca, my pesto business starte in 8th grae, gifts of exotic pasta an sauces for my birthay, to the cross-country team’s pasta parties. Pasta is a narrative tightly intertwine with that of my own. It’s been sai that one shoul look for goo in the worl, whether it be memories, hope for the future, or simple joys, fin that goo that rives your every ay. I say you nee look no further than what is in front of you. I foun that gooness in a bowl of pasta.
意面继续编织着我的生活。从圣诞晚宴的Pasta Putanesca，到八年级的香蒜酱买卖，亦或是我生日礼物得到的各种风味的意面和酱料，直至跨国风情的意面派对。意面串联起了我的人生中的每一环。有人说，人们应该在世界上寻找美好，无论是过往的回忆，或是对未来的希望，还是简简单单的快乐，找到那个可以给你动力让你为之奋斗的事情。可我却认为，在四处寻觅之前，先看清眼前的一切吧。而我所看到的，就是一碗意面给我的美好。
