I rolled out the dough, transmuting kneaded ball into disc. The recipe online had insisted special flour wasn’t necessary to make fresh pasta. I began to have doubts. I folded the thin, floured plane of dough onto itself and cut pappardelle-wide strips. The sharp knife sliced clean through layers that unfolded into ribbons. I dropped the ribbons into boiling water, and they bobbed and coiled until rising, ready, to the top. The result looked as good as it tasted — absolutely terrible. Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy it. Odd, how satisfying it is to make something, even badly.
Kate Pyontek’s work has appeared in Poetry, Ecotone, Southeast Review, and elsewhere. katepyontek.com Instagram @katepyontek