Pasta A GoGo: The Poet And His Pasta

On my last visit to Pasta A GoGo I was overcome with sentiment upon tasting Robert Bergola's Pappardelle. I’ve never had finer pasta, and as such, I was inspired to compose this Ode. It stems from a reflection educed by taste and flavor, and how simple food at its finest can soupçon the sublime.

Ode to pasta

(In Praise of Robert Bergola and what he creates.)

And with an empty stomach and full eyes do I,

See where it sits upon thine white porcelain surface,

A plate clad in gluten you have become,

Made by one called ‘The pasta guru' by some.

It begins as Eden intended, most humble.

But enter human ingenuity, a force like lightning asunder. 

Behold two ingredients in the form of liquid and powder most unadorned,

two elements joined by chance, or perhaps by way of Keat’s extempore.

One strewn from Prairie stalks, the other from prancing hens,

Joined together to form a doughy mass, a yellow, soft, rounded gem.

Palms white, back and forth action, 

Forcing a merger between flora and fowl.

Rest my sweet ball of dough ye shall rest,

For soon your serenity will give way to pressing, cutting and boiling;

A doomed fate most necessary; the price paid for our toiling. 

Lo, the water boils, what shape shall Robert bestow upon you?

Bring forth the instruments of your craft,

whose wondrous beauty your mechanics will make true.

O my most mighty of glutinous men,

from whom all noodles beyond the mark of delicious do transcend.

create and serve your pasta for me and mine,

in wait we rejoice and sing your skills atop Olympus’ shrine,

so that we might sing aloud of your accolades,

before our eyes give way to hunger’s shade.

But before I have a gogo at this feast within my sight,

Tis only fair, it seems, to reflect in that fleeting moment of delight.

For from the celestial second my fork spins its first silky noodle,

to the ominous end when utensil rests on mine empty plate,

is but a flash in a cook’s pan, and so… my end shall wait.

So let me stare at your beauty and dance with delight,

Let me anticipate with scent your taste, as is my sovereign right.

But most of all, as I pay homage to the skills of one with what I write,

It is Robert’s gift that gives so we may all taste Ataraxia’s light.