The Lasagna

1840’s: Somewhere in some little town in Campania, Italy

Fresh hand-pressed pasta is essential. I will find the best past before finding the light promised by the great religions. I’ll set them in the boiling water and watch the hundreds of bubbles perish after reaching the surface to escape from the heat. It’s amusing to see them pop.

Next, you must spread the cheese and the tomato sauce. The blanket of love and gunpowder is where the flavor comes from. It will be the first thing that he tastes. Put more pasta on top, some meat, a touch of dynamite, and a sprinkle of peppers with flint. There! Time for delivery.

I love making them for everybody. Some neighbors of mine, some friends who I disagree with. The one I’m making novel is very special. I promised it to the king. If he doesn’t want it, then I’ll give it to that fat man in the bank or a man peculiar fondness. Or, I can just throw it at the king. It would be more funny. 

I’ll let the police take me, I’ll let each town in Italy battle me with my hands tied, as long as I get to share my lasagna with them all.

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