I love pasta.

我喜欢吃意面。

I’m not Italian, nor do I know anyone who is. I’m a half-Polish, half-German kid from Boulder, Colorado. I should instead crave perogies, wienerschnitzel, or maybe vegan avocado toast sprinkled 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 do 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, Noodles, had mac-n-cheese that was legendary. However, it played second fiddle to Pasta Fresca, my little secret that hid down on the bottom right of the menu. I would order it every time, exactly the same: extra tomatoes, half spinach, double feta. Perfection.

在我七岁的时候，我喜欢一间名为Noodles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 desire for perfection, came complications; it was impossible for a seven-year-old to routinely find his way to Noodles, come up with $8.50, and convince the cashier that No, I am not lost, and Yes, I know the feta will cost extra. Therefore, I had to get creative. Armed with a to-go menu and one brief shopping trip later, I attempted to make Pasta Fresca. I unfortunately learned, however, that an ingredient list alone contains no indication 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 would’ve been a crime. But it was my own–I made that pasta and 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Noodles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 pride of my foray into Pasta Fresca was long gone. I had hit rock bottom. It was winter and I was living with my best friend. Sledding, snowball fights, and hot cocoa filled our days. So, how does a twelve-year-old living his dream 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 diagnosed with a rare form of childhood sarcoma that forced my family to New York City for treatment, while I was stuck in cold Colorado. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months of simply grinding away at school, craving the comfort of sleep, where I could forget my anxiety for a while. My sole comfort, the one thing that turned the worst of weeks into something bearable, was Gruffalo Pasta. Contrary to the name, it contained no mythical beast; it was simply penne with meat sauce, and yet there was something magical about it. Every Friday night, my friend’s family and I would sit down and eat Gruffalo Pasta with their famous garlic cheesy bread (worthy of its own essay). Laughs rang out as we played games, watched movies, and went sledding–we would be a family. Although my real family was thousands of miles away, every Friday 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 returned, spring gave way to summer, and with it came neverending afternoons of skinned knees, balls lost over fences, new neighborhood friends, and Mac n’ Cheese. We ripped through box after box, new faces cycling through the kitchen as mac n’ cheese lunches became a neighborhood tradition. There was a sense of independence that came with it, as us kids cooked it ourselves–exactly how we liked it. We added extra butter and milk, peas, chicken, bacon; whatever our little hearts desired. The days seemed infinite, brimming with possibility and spontaneity, with the comfort that there was always a mac n’ cheese lunch at someone’s house to look forward 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 thread through my life, from the Christmas dinners of Pasta Puttanesca, my pesto business started in 8th grade, gifts of exotic pasta and sauces for my birthday, to the cross-country team’s pasta parties. Pasta is a narrative tightly intertwined with that of my own. It’s been said that one should look for good in the world, whether it be memories, hope for the future, or simple joys, find that good that drives your every day. I say you need look no further than what is in front of you. I found that goodness 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。