Anyone who knows me knows this much: Pasta is my favorite food.
Pasta is the first thing that I eat when I get back from a trip. Pasta is what I ask for on my birthday. Pasta is what I serve my husband, Craig, on our anniversary—even when he asks for scallops. It's what I cook when I get good news. Or bad news. Pasta is the meal that I want on my deathbed, and also the first meal that I want when I get to heaven, assuming they serve pasta in heaven. (If they don't serve pasta, it's definitely not heaven.)
