Pastina's Done!

Pastina is what you feed small Italian children to make them grow into strong, pasta loving adults, which literally means "little pasta". These tiny pasta treats can be cooked in soups or served on there own with butter or an egg (my most favorite).  Before my sister and I ever heard of mac n' cheese and well before the microwavable "easy mac" revolution that I experienced throughout college, there was PASTINA. 

Regina is my grandmother's name, our Nonni, the center of my pasta loving family and my middle name.  Regina to me, has also always been my alter hidden Italian ego, before I understood that it was actually pretty cool to appreciate your roots (more on this later).  The name was in fact so powerful that one of my professors in college refused to call me by my first name after she found out I was a REGINA!  Her goal was to bring the vivacious alter ego out in class. Megan (my first name/pretty popular 80's baby name) tried too hard to say what she thought everyone wanted to hear, remained polite and enjoyed staying out of the spotlight. It's unfortunate that it took me so long to appreciate how awesome it really is to be a Regina and break out of the shell a little.  Not only did some professor think it was so great that they needed to address me by it, I also began to realize: this is the name that forever binds me to someone I love and admire.

How do pastina and Regina come together as one? Well, let's go back to the kitchen, specifically Nonni Regina's.  Nonni would watch all of the kids growing up, as most grandmothers do when parents want a break and inevitably have to feed us little brats.  As I envisioned other kids eating chicken fingers, mac n' cheese and hot dogs, we got the Italian fast food: PASTINA. Pastina and butter on most occasions was dished out for breakfast, lunch and/or dinner. If we were really lucky an egg got thrown into the mix (think about how essential the egg is to chicken fried rice).

As a side note: growing up I did on occasion eat a Happy Meal and had strong affections for strawberry frosted Pop tarts. What can I say though, certain foods stick out more than others.  Pastina is one of those things that somehow ended up even bigger than the meatball in regard to the most frequently eaten food as a kid. It wasn't about a special occasion or holiday or even Sunday dinner, it was about day to day life.

My sister and I (as well as many others in my family) were born and bred on this teeny-tiny pasta until we were ready for the real stuff (e.g., big pasta). I can not say it is something I eat very often now at all. However, on a cold winter night, a stressful day after work or when I'm sick and in bed, the little blue box gets pulled out. Like magic or a miracle, it can lower my anxiety, warm me up and make me well again. It pulls me back to my center, a warm, safe, familiar place: my Nonni's kitchen. No matter where I end up living or what I end up eating, pastina lives on, a warm, buttery memory, boiled into my brain.