No Gnocchi

One Year, 12 Pastas

At the risk of having my parents’ Italian card revoked, I must confess that we never ate gnocchi growing up. In fact, I still struggle to pronounce the word correctly.

I know, first world problems.

For those of you that were trapped under the same rock, the best way to describe the amazingness that is gnocchi is as follows:

Imagine your most favorite meaty, yet moist, cut pasta.

Now imagine that said pasta goes out and gets a big, voluptuous, starchy potato pregnant.

(Go with it.)

Together their union would result in mind-blowing, life-altering gnocchi-babies.

They are, quite frankly, the Brangelina of dumplings.

While I can’t remember the first time that I had gnocchi, I’ll never forget the first time I enjoyed the first plate Zan and I made together.

Mind blowing. Kinda like when Ted learned that he wasn’t allergic to bacon. Life altering.



Crafted + Curated with Love + OCD