When I was a kid, my grandmother served lasagna. I loved it. After I swallowed the last morsel, I looked up at her and asked, “May I have a glass of milk?”
She looked at me as if I had two heads. “You wanna the milk on toppa the lasagna?”
“Yes, why?” She went to the refrigerator and returned with the milk, shaking hewr head, never uttering another word.
“May I help you?” I asked the lady.
“Yes, I’d like a box of la-za-jene.”
“La-za-jene. What’s that?”
“You know, the macaroni they make in layers with meat and sauce in between.”
“Oh, I think you mean lasagna.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
I don’t think she was Italian.
Do you have a pasta story to share?