This is The Snack Desk, a newsletter of personal essays, gems from different corners of the internet, and other bites for your snack break.
Today, I turn another year older. I’ve celebrated some momentous occasions in the past twelve months (maybe I mentioned once or twice that I got married?). But no matter what milestones happen in any given year, it really is all the small moments that make up a life.
Here’s one from recent weeks that filled my cup.
Raffetto’s is like many shops in our neighborhood in that its small size belies the magnificence of its wares. Its shelves are stocked with sauces and olives and tinned fish that appear to have been airdropped directly from Italy.
Harish has taught me to learn the backstories of local establishments—he reads up on restaurant news with the same fervor that I read pop culture news—so knowing Raffetto’s story as a century-old family-owned business deepens my appreciation for being in their store.
The most recent time I went, I asked the shopkeeper for a pound of pappardelle. He divided out a portion of fresh dough, slid it through the pasta roller, and cut it into wide strips. He brought it to the register and charged me $2.25, which is the lowest amount of money I have ever spent at any establishment in New York City.
Walking home, it was as if the parchment-wrapped pasta was the physical manifestation of joy; I could feel it radiating into my hands. I held the small parcel up to my heart, and looked up for the first time that afternoon to really see just how blue the sky was. The existence of this local family-owned business that sold fresh-cut pasta for $2.25 a few blocks from my apartment was almost too much to bear. Almost. But I managed to bear it. And with a few scoops of pesto from the farmer’s market, that night, we feasted.
It was as simple as that. Small moments indeed.
Wishing you Fresh Pasta Joy today, whatever you may be celebrating. 💜
