Spaghetti Quotes

“Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.”
― Sophia Loren

“On our own, we are marshmallows and dried spaghetti, but together we can become something bigger.”
― C.B. Cook

“A nation of spaghetti eaters cannot restore Roman civilization!”
― Benito Mussolini

“Thinking about spaghetti that boils eternally but is never done is a sad, sad thing.”
― Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

“When faced with something I fear, I tend to eat spaghetti.”
― Mark Helprin, Memoir from Antproof Case

“Hey, my spaghetti’s moving!” cried Mr. Twit, poking around in it with his fork.
“It’s a new kind,” Mrs. Twit said, taking a mouthful from her own plate which of course had no worms. “It’s called Squiggly Spaghetti. It’s delicious. Eat it up while it’s nice and hot.”
― Roald Dahl, The Twits

“Commander Vimes always says that when life hands you a mess of spaghetti, you just keep pulling until you find a meatball.”
― Terry Pratchett, Making Money

“On April 1st, 1957, a BBC news program ended with a three minute segment about a Spaghetti farm in Switzerland. In the segment, spaghetti (not being a popular dish in England at the time) was said to grow on trees. Many people believed the report and called the BBC to ask how to grow their own spaghetti tree. The response: "Place a sprig of spaghetti in a tin of tomato sauce and hope for the best.”
― BBC

“Anyway, a bunch of penguins were living in a ceramic bowl of cold spaghetti noodles. There was no tomato sauce because it didn’t exist yet, but that was okay. As the spaghetti was cold, moisture condensed upon it. This kept the spaghetti from sticking, or from sticking to the penguins, or the bowl. It also kept the penguins from sticking to the bowl, and from sticking to each other.
As I mentioned, tomato sauce did not exist yet. You should realize since this was a beginning, the moisture didn’t either. Neither did the bowl. I think you can guess about the penguins. How could there be penguins if nothing existed yet?”
― David S. Atkinson, Apocalypse All the Time

“LIVE FROM THE PASTA FARMS, THIS HAS BEEN AL DENTE: The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) aired a documentary on its new show Panorama about Spaghetti growers in Switzerland-- on April 1, 1957. The joke broadcast showed Swiss spaghetti farmers picking fresh spaghetti from 'spaghetti trees' and preparing the spaghetti for market. It also mentioned that the pasta farmers had a bumper crop partly because of the 'virtual disappearance of the spaghetti weevil.' Soon after the broadcast, the BBC received phone calls from viewers eager to know if spaghetti really grew on trees and how they might grow a spaghetti tree of their own. To the last question, the BBC reportedly replied that they should 'place a sprig of spaghetti in a tin of tomato sauce and hope for the best.”
― Leland Gregory, Stupid History: Tales of Stupidity, Strangeness, and Mythconceptions Throughout the Ages

“I see bacon, green peppers, mushrooms... those are all found in Napolitan Spaghetti. I guess instead of the standard ketchup, he's used curry roux for the sauce?
The noodles look similar to fettuccini."
"Hm. I'm not seeing anything else that stands out about it. Given how fun and amusing the calzone a minute ago was...
... the impact of this one's a lot more bland and boring..."
W-what the heck? Where did this heavy richness come from? It hits like a shockwave straight to the brain!
"Chicken and beef stocks for the base... with fennel and green cardamom for fragrance! What an excellent, tongue-tingling curry sauce! It clings well to the broad fettuccini noodles too!"
"For extra flavor is that... soy sauce?"
"No, it's tamari soy sauce!
Tamari soy sauce is richer and less salty than standard soy sauce, with a more full-bodied sweetness to it. Most tamari is made on Japan's eastern seaboard. "
"That's not all either! I'm picking up the mellow hints of cheese! But I'm not seeing a single shred of any kind of cheese in here. Where's it hiding?"
"Allow me to tell you, sir. First, look at the short edge of a noodle, please."
?! What on earth?!
This noodle's got three layers!"
"For the outer layers, I kneaded turmeric into the pasta dough. But for the inner layer, I added Parmesan cheese!"
"I see! It's the combination of the tamari soy sauce and the parmesan cheese that gives this dish its incredible richness!"
"Yeah, but wait a minute! If you go kneading cheese right into the noodles, wouldn't it just melt back out when you boiled them?"
No... that's why they're in three layers! With the cheese in the middle, the outer layers prevented it from melting out!
The deep, rich curry sauce, underscored with the flavor of tamari soy sauce...
... and the chewy noodles, which hit you with the mellow, robust taste of parmesan cheese with every bite!
Many people are familiar with the idea of coating cream cheese in soy sauce...
... but who would have thought parmesan cheese would match this well with tamari soy sauce! ”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 7 [Shokugeki no Souma 7]

“what makes timelines thrive is CREATION and you are part of this. your way makes ripples of creation whether you are writing song or book or making spaghetti or turning on a light. YOU ARE INFINITELY POWERFUL JUST BY BEING YOU do not forget this strength and wield it for love”
― Chuck Tingle

“Pensare a degli spaghetti che bollono in eterno, ma non sono mai cotti, è molto triste.”
― Murakami Haruki

“Writing is throwing spaghetti at a wall to see what sticks.”
― Kelly E. Lindner, Bloodless

“OSCAR. (With a pointing finger.) I'm warning you. You want to live here, I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear you and I don't want to smell your cooking. Now get this spaghetti off my poker table.
FELIX. Ha! Haha!
OSCAR. What the hell's so funny?
FELIX. It's not spaghetti. It's linguini!
(OSCAR picks up the plate of linguini, crosses to the doorway, and hurls it into the kitchen.)
OSCAR. Now it's garbage!”
― Neil Simon, The Odd Couple

“Spaghetti alla puttanesca is typically made with tomatoes, olives, anchovies, capers, and garlic. It means, literally, "spaghetti in the style of a prostitute." It is a sloppy dish, the tomatoes and oil making the spaghetti lubricated and slippery. It is the sort of sauce that demands you slurp the noodles Goodfellas style, staining your cheeks with flecks of orange and red. It is very salty and very tangy and altogether very strong; after a small plate, you feel like you've had a visceral and significant experience.
There are varying accounts as to when and how the dish originated- but the most likely explanation is that it became popular in the mid-twentieth century. The first documented mention of it is in Raffaele La Capria's 1961 novel, Ferito a Morte. According to the Italian Pasta Makers Union, spaghetti alla puttanesca was a very popular dish throughout the sixties, but its exact genesis is not quite known. Sandro Petti, a famous Napoli chef and co-owner of Ischian restaurant Rangio Fellone, claims to be its creator. Near closing time one evening, a group of customers sat at one of his tables and demanded to be served a meal. Running low on ingredients, Petti told them he didn't have enough to make anything, but they insisted. They were tired, and they were hungry, and they wanted pasta. "Facci una puttanata qualsiasi!" they cried. "Make any kind of garbage!" The late-night eater is not usually the most discerning. Petti raided the kitchen, finding four tomatoes, two olives, and a jar of capers, the base of the now-famous spaghetti dish; he included it on his menu the next day under the name spaghetti alla puttanesca. Others have their own origin myths. But the most common theory is that it was a quick, satisfying dish that the working girls of Naples could knock up with just a few key ingredients found at the back of the fridge- after a long and unforgiving night.
As with all dishes containing tomatoes, there are lots of variations in technique. Some use a combination of tinned and fresh tomatoes, while others opt for a squirt of puree. Some require specifically cherry or plum tomatoes, while others go for a smooth, premade pasta. Many suggest that a teaspoon of sugar will "open up the flavor," though that has never really worked for me. I prefer fresh, chopped, and very ripe, cooked for a really long time. Tomatoes always take longer to cook than you think they will- I rarely go for anything less than an hour. This will make the sauce stronger, thicker, and less watery. Most recipes include onions, but I prefer to infuse the oil with onions, frying them until brown, then chucking them out. I like a little kick in most things, but especially in pasta, so I usually go for a generous dousing of chili flakes. I crush three or four cloves of garlic into the oil, then add any extras. The classic is olives, anchovies, and capers, though sometimes I add a handful of fresh spinach, which nicely soaks up any excess water- and the strange, metallic taste of cooked spinach adds an interesting extra dimension. The sauce is naturally quite salty, but I like to add a pinch of sea or Himalayan salt, too, which gives it a slightly more buttery taste, as opposed to the sharp, acrid salt of olives and anchovies. I once made this for a vegetarian friend, substituting braised tofu for anchovies. Usually a solid fish replacement, braised tofu is more like tuna than anchovy, so it was a mistake for puttanesca. It gave the dish an unpleasant solidity and heft. You want a fish that slips and melts into the pasta, not one that dominates it.
In terms of garnishing, I go for dried oregano or fresh basil (never fresh oregano or dried basil) and a modest sprinkle of cheese. Oh, and I always use spaghetti. Not fettuccine. Not penne. Not farfalle. Not rigatoni. Not even linguine. Always spaghetti.”
― Lara Williams, Supper Club

“Otto minuti"

Misuro il tempo che resta negli otto,
necessari minuti alla cottura
per cucinare al dente gli spaghetti
come demiurgo della pastasciutta.
Il conto alla rovescia, l’acqua bolle
mentre sale la nebbia del vapore,
amidato profumo cereale.
Sento il sapore di una vita in bianco.”
― Lorenzo Foltran, Il tempo perso in aeroporto

“She had never eaten food like this before. No: she had never eaten before. It was as if these flavors had always existed, had always been there in her imagination, but now she was tasting them properly for the very first time. Each course was more intense than the last. The spaghetti was coated in a thick sauce of meat, tomatoes, and wine, rich, pungent, and sticky. The lamb, by contrast, was pink and sweet, so tender it seemed to dissolve in her mouth. It was served without vegetables, but afterward Tommaso brought the first of the contorni to the table: a whole artichoke, slathered in warm olive oil and lemon juice and sprinkled with chopped mint. Laura licked every drop of oil off her fingers, amazed by the depth of the flavor.”
― Anthony Capella, The Food of Love

“I don't let my spaghetti dangle, or twirl it around my fork. I cut it. Of course, my preferred slicing utensil is a Rubik's Cube, because knives are edgy, but 3D squares are 12 times more dangerous.”
― Jarod Kintz, Eggs, they’re not just for breakfast

“So intensely was the spaghetti glistening that it looked as if it were alive. She transferred it into a bowl, then opened up the fridge and took out the packet of Calpis butter, the pollock roe in its polystyrene tray sealed with clingfilm, along with a pack of shiso leaves, an unusually dark green for the season.”
― Asako Yuzuki, Butter

“Maybe she's a spaghetti girl.....straight until wet.”
― Jodi Lerner (Marlee Matlin's L Word character)

“Spaghetti del mare," she said, coming through the door, "from the sea."
In the large, wide blue bowl, swirls of thin noodles wove their way between dark black shells and bits of red tomato.
"Breathe first," Charlie told him, "eyes closed." The steam rose off the pasta like ocean turned into air.
"Clams, mussels," Tom said, "garlic, of course, and tomatoes. Red pepper flakes. Butter, wine, oil."
"One more," she coaxed.
He leaned in- smelled hillsides in the sun, hot ground, stone walls. "Oregano," he said, opening his eyes. Charlie smiled and handed him a forkful of pasta. After the sweetness of the melon, the flavor was full of red bursts and spikes of hot pepper shooting across his tongue, underneath, like a steadying hand, a salty cushion of clam, the soft velvet of oregano, and pasta warm as beach sand.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The School of Essential Ingredients

“After an hour or so, I went to roast a round of tuna steaks. The kitchen was dense with spices and smells. I'd massaged the tuna with cumin and ground coriander, plus lots of chili, serving it with new potatoes and carrots. We mopped up the sauce from our plates with thickly cut bread. We tossed any bones onto the floor, throwing them over our shoulders as was now tradition. The fat and the tomatoes left a thin red tide line around our mouths, which we dabbed at with tissues.
After the tuna we had a smaller course of spaghetti puttanesca- served in sundae bowls we'd found in the kitchen. The pasta was a little overcooked, but the fiery anchovy sauce was delicious, finished with an extra drizzle of chili oil, its carmine flecks spitting and popping from the pan.”
― Lara Williams, Supper Club

“My mom was never much of a cook---her style of cookery mostly involved cream-based canned soup and processed cheese---but her spaghetti salad was something of a delicacy in my town when I was growing up. The combination of spaghetti, ham, cubed cheese, and Miracle Whip doesn't sound as if it should go together, but somehow, when combined, the result is downright delicious. Maybe it's the fact that every bite reminds me of my mom, but when I crave something comforting and familiar, it's the first thing that comes to mind.”
― Dana Bate, Too Many Cooks

“The woman locks [the needles] away because a certain cat tries to slurp up threaded needles like spaghetti.”
“I like to live dangerously.”
― Georgia Dunn, Lupin Leaps In: A Breaking Cat News Adventure

“The dusky-pink pollock roe she removed from its polystyrene packaging gleamed wetly and, for an instant, the image of Kaiji's puckered lips passed through her mind. Leaving its outer skin on, she broke up the roe with a fork and mixed it unfussily into the spaghetti. She sliced off a knob of the Calpis with a knife and perched it on top, then watched as the pale-yellow solid gently began to change color, spreading out to the sides and turning golden, mingling with the fish eggs. The full, milky aroma of the butter married with the salty marine tang of the roe as the scent of the dish went rising up to her face, and she breathed it deeply into her lungs. She garnished the pasta with a scattering of shiso leaves she'd torn up with her fingers, then moved the bowl of pasta over to her cardboard box. There was a rosy-cheeked frankness about the pink of the roe, and in combination with the oozing butter, it looked positively carefree. Rika tool up her fork and wound up the spaghetti, before lifting it to her mouth.
Cloaked in a coating of minuscule fish eggs and butter, the spaghetti strands sprang around Rika's tongue as if in excitement. The dish was adequately salted, but there was a relaxed, mellow quality to its taste. What a wonderful combination pollock roe and butter made!”
― Asako Yuzuki, Butter