Getting Back To My Roots

Ty and I took down our Christmas tree on Saturday. It was bittersweet, but it had to be done, as we are not interested in turning our living room into a combustion engine.

Above is a picture of not our tree, by the way. It's the remains of a random tree that I snapped for its stark beauty, and also for the curiosity factor. Where did all the needles go? I've posted it here because initially I thought it would tie in nicely with both the removal-of-the-Christmas-tree theme and also with the title of the post; then, I had a few more sips of tea and realized that there are no roots in the picture, only branches. It's Monday morning; you're just going to have to lower your expectations a little, dear readers.

We worked up a good appetite by taking down the tree, so we finally broke out the pasta maker and made ourselves some fresh fettuccine:

Isn't it beautiful? I have to say, it turned out even better than I expected. The pasta maker has earned a piece of the valuable real estate that is our kitchen countertop, thus replacing the broken espresso maker and pushing the food processor ever closer to the edge. My mind is now constantly plotting the next batch: I'm thinking I'll put freshly ground pepper in with the flour, and it won't be long before I try my hand with spinach pasta. Yes, the Trattoria Breve will henceforth be serving homemade pasta (most of the time).

Given that the holidays are over and it's generally a glum time, I'm feeling pretty good.

Beautiful roses courtesy of my husband. Back off, ladies; like other good Italian wives, I own a rolling pin.