Amid the flour that covered the old dining table sat the boys, clustered around the pasta machine. One at a time they fed the dough that Granny had flattened with her pin through the rollers watching it grow ever longer and thinner. They turned the dial to change the roller thickness and sent it in again, over and over until it was long and papery. They could almost taste it already covered in a tomato basil sauce and sprinkled with parmesan. It was hard to believe that all it was was flour and eggs, kneaded and shaped. The final job was to send it through the cutters to make tagliatelle and hang it on the rack. Today it was green, so either spinach or more basil. Either way, they didn't care - fresh pasta rocked and they got to make it themselves.
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