Is there anything better than leftover pasta? In my book, the answer is no.
When I go back to my mum’s house the first thing I do is open the fridge. I’m looking for the delicious remnants of a rigatoni bolognese or spaghetti puttanesca which I’ll eat standing up, bathed in the cool, white light of the appliance. Though there’s a special place in my heart for this fridge-cold, slightly congealed pasta, there’s a bigger, more special place for the fried kind.
