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simple spinach pasta – how to cheat your way

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spinach pasta

Have you ever been in a situation when you had only 10 to 15 minutes to make something for lunch or dinner, something to fill you up, comforting and warm? Well, I’ve quite often been in that situation. There is no need to panic, you can keep your socks on, there is always pasta with spinach. It’s so easy that a 6 year old could make it, it’s also very nice. If you serve garlic bread or focaccia, salad and wine with it, you can even offer it to people coming for dinner. To make it look more like an effort and dinner party dish, you can give it some fancy name, like ‘pasta fresca’, ‘spaghetti aglio olio e spinaci’ or something like that. Trust me, not many people speak Italian or have a clue what they are eating, and a fancy name for a dish never fails, people always assume it must be something sophisticated if it’s got an Italian sounding name. Warning! As Woody Allen said ‘never bluff the bluffer’. If you are cooking for someone who knows something about cooking, just admit you are making something simple, because simplicity in the kitchen is as ‘in’ as neon is the new black in fashion.

 

Simple spinach pasta

 

This is the simplest and quickest way of making pasta.

 

2-3 spoons of olive oil

spinach

100 grams of pine nuts

3 cloves of garlic

salt and pepper

fresh basil

parmesan

spaghetti (or any pasta you like)

 

1. Boil salted water for pasta.

2. Warm olive oil in a pot, add crushed garlic and fry for a while. Don’t burn the garlic, so keep on a low heat with lots of stirring.

3. Add spinach, cover the pot.

4. In the meantime boil pasta.

5. Add some salt and pepper to spinach.

6. Roast pine nuts and add them to your pot of spinach.

7. Drain pasta, add it to the spinach. You can sprinkle it with some more olive oil and chopped basil.

8. Serve with parmesan.

 

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About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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