As any student, when it comes to pasta, I’d say I’m knowledgeable. So knowledgeable, in fact, that I have a favourite type, fusilli, and more importantly, a least favourite type: farfalle, or “bowtie pasta” as it’s known on the streets. As most seem to overlook, there’s lots to hate about farfalle. It could be the overly comical shape, or perhaps the exaggerated hype it gets because of said shape. Regardless, there’s one reason that really freaks me out, right to my core – what, pray tell, is holding the sides of the farfalle together?!
If you don’t know what I’m talking about, picture this: you’ve cooked yourself a steaming bowl of farfalle. You sit down to eat it and see that one of the bowties has popped open. “No big deal,” you think. Wrong. Because this implies that there is something holding all the other pieces together! In my personal experience, this is usually a small circle of an unknown substance acting as “glue.” The contents of said “glue” are a mystery. The complacency people have with this ambiguity never fails to disappoint me.
But it’s not just that there’s an unknown substance holding the abominable shape together. It’s also the fact that it never cooks properly. So even if your bowtie stays intact, with every bite, there’s a tiny bit of pasta that is almost crunchy – not crunchy enough to sound any alarms, but still hard enough to cause significant emotional and mental disturbance.
The existence of farfalle is, quite frankly, a burden on society. It astounds me to no end that there is so little public outrage on the matter. I pray to the heavens that there is a public awakening and ensuing shunning of farfalle, or, as it is soon to be known as, The Forbidden Pasta.