I was never a fan of pasta. It was my brother’s favorite growing up, so I’m not sure if it was the contrarian sibling gene in me or if I was just too pasta-ed out from all the dinners and leftovers served, but for three decades giant bowls of noodles never seemed appealing to me.
The night before I was born my mom made a giant baked ziti. She still jokes that I decided to make an early arrival because I was fed up with all the pasta.1
100 days, 100 essays, and it only seems fitting that one of them be dedicated to the 180º my taste buds have accomplished. Thanks to this pregnancy, pasta is officially on the menu, and I am loving it.
Ramen got me through my first trimester, and it was, for a while at least, the only way to sneak in some protein. No way was I going to have chicken or steak on a plate, but in a bowl of ramen? Sure.
When it came time to plan holiday menus the Bon Appetit baked ziti was first on the list. We were tasked with a Super Bowl Sunday side dish, and I gladly took up the challenge of an over-the-top homemade mac and cheese. For my birthday I skipped the brick oven pizza for the clam pasta.
And still, any day I’ll gladly risk the heartburn for my husband’s extra saucy ChatGPT-inspired spaghetti and meatballs.
I’m not sure if this pun is intended or not and now my brain is spinning over the origins of the term “fed up.”