This discovery was in the south of France on a blazing hot
day. At lunchtime, Mum produced them from an enormous saucepan: French noodles - short strips of pasta - dressed
with nothing but French unsalted butter, sea salt (which did not destroy the
point of the unsalted butter) and black pepper. A mound of them on a yellow
glass plate, melted butter and salt crystals glistening, the steam gently
rising. How quickly they swam down our throats.
Years later, they became a staple at university. I once
cooked a bowl of buttered noodles for a girl I rather liked there; these
particular noodles were green. "Thank you for the lovely
tagliatelle", she said on leaving my room shortly after finishing her
bowlful. She was far too sophisticated for me, a friend told me, having
disclosed my secret to the object of my affection and been told there was no
reciprocal interest.
