Cracking the unblessed pasta code
Several years ago, a dinner mishap altered my perspective. While visiting with my abundant Southern relatives — gatherings always noisy, crowded and overflowing with food — I helped my two daughters with their plates, and sent them off to find a seat while I navigated the options with their younger brother. As always, he was picky and we were soon strolling toward his sisters, plate populated with cheese cubes and crackers. My middle daughter, three or four at the time, was angling a scoop of mac and cheese mouthward when my sister struck. One swift smack across the back of my daughter’s hand. The silverware thudded onto the plate, a few pieces of sticky mac took flight. “Don’t eat that,” the sister warned. “It’s not been blessed yet.” My girls…