Gnocchi, revisited

I finally learned how to make fucking *good* gnocchi.

I mean, goddamnit!  I’ve FINALLY fucking figured it out!

For those of you playing at home, gnocchi is a metaphor for pain and depression.

I can’t untie nurturing with gnocchi. When I knead dough, I think of handing little bits off to a little hand with little, pointed fingers and wide eyes peering behind the edge of the countertop. The smell of flour and sweet potato is soft and sweet like a baby smells.

“Mom, look!” the little hands and big eyes hand me a misshapen lump. "Dinosaur." I place the dinosaur as gently as I might place an egg into the salted, boiling water. I wait for it to float before placing it on a plate with some sauce in front of very little hands and very big eyes and a very large smile. "Careful, it's hot!" 

"Hot," the solemn eyes repeat as the timid, pointed fingers test the temperature of the lumpy dough. 

Then everything comes crashing down. Who the hell am I kidding. I am so far from being a mother. I don't even fricken date, how the hell am I going to have a child? What if I never get married? What if I am unlovable? What if it’s all my fault? What am I missing? Why can't I see what a monster I am? 

What if my whole life is an unending cycle of me holding my soft, squishy heart out and offering it to everyone, saying, here, have a bite! 

By the time the dough hits the boiling water, I come to the conclusion that my fears are stupid.  I will not be alone in the future because I am not alone now. And if I never have a child of my own, there are plenty of lost children out there who need good, strong mothers. I can be one. And the only way to learn happiness is to live with your soft, squishy heart in your hands, ready to offer to anyone. It hurts sometimes, but you get what you give. Sometimes it takes a shitty experience to bring the good things into perspective. 

It takes a lot of kneading to come to a constructive perspective. 

That’s how I got good at making gnocchi.

Recipe

1 cup sweet potato, mashed

1 cup flour

Mix the sweet potato with the flour until it forms a dough. Knead for 10 minutes. It's a wet, messy dough. Take your scraggly, moist mass of dough and put it into plastic wrap. Walk away from the dough. Go for a run. Take a shower. Get distracted by your roommate's cat's antics. 

After an hour, your dough is smooth and silky. It's like magic. But not magic. Science. Anyway. 

Cut the dough into quarters and shape into whatever gnocchi shape your heart desires. I like them rough and lumpy because they hold dough well. 

I like to boil my little gnocchi friends until they float and then fry them in a pan with oil and serve with a giant pile of shredded pecorino romano. You can freeze them on a plate and then put the frozen bits into a freezer bag for later on. I've never had any last more than one meal.