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Collecting Seashells

Collecting Seashells
Spaghetti festooned with Shrimp Fritta, showered in Roasted Mushroom Alfredo
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One of my fondest memories is walking barefoot on the rocky, sandless beaches on the coast of Washington, cutting my feet on the jagged stones while I pretended not to be in extreme pain to impress my girlfriend.

"You really should put some shoes on," she said, obviously impressed.

Pictured here is Collecting Seashells, and by the way, there were no seashells on the beach.

Day 24

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My head is pounding. I can't write. I can't think. Only pasta.

Here's some pasta for you guys.

Lunch was Eris.

Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:

Achos
Ania
Lupe

see you tomorrow

A special thanks to my dining companion, Janna!

Eris

Eris
Penne skillfully merged with Alfredo
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Long co-opted by smarmy atheists from the 1960's who based around her a parody religion that vastly predates Pastafarianism. Discordianism (worship of Eris) is more subtle and richer - much like this plate of untopped penne and alfredo.

Pictured here is Eris. fnord

Achos

Achos
Italian Sausage drizzled with Alfredo, nestled within a pile of Spaghetti
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This Greek personification of pain (physical or mental) is where we get our English word "ache"! It's also what you might feel after the sodium from the Italian Sausage works its magic on your digestive tract.

Pictured here is Achos, and maybe the german annoyed grunt "ach" also has something to do with that.

Ania

Ania
Spaghetti tastefully glazed with Marinara, garnished lavishly with Chicken Fritta
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Grief, sorrow, distress, trouble, and it doesn't stop there - Ania is what we like to call a "total package". If you only worship one personification of strife and unhappiness, make it Ania!

Pictured here is Ania, though this chicken fritta is anything but misery!

Lupe

Lupe
Penne woven into Meatballs, swimming in Spicy Three Meat Sauce
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Twin brother of Achos, personifying the exact same things as Achos - we can use this pasta to reflect on the legendary laziness of the Greeks when they built their pantheon.

Pictured here is Lupe, and who knows what kind of words come from that? Not me. I'm not looking up jack.

Day 23

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Travelled up to Grand Forks today to get a break from the routine of slowly dying of what I can only assume is a pasta-based tumor, a malignant ball of carbs that has permanently lodged itself in my sinus cavity and causes a nonstop flow of mucous and misery.

Sorry. Where was I? Oh. Grand Forks.

Grand Forks has been on my to-visit list ever since I began this quest - their Olive Garden is legendary as the subject of Marilyn Hagerty's viral review from 2012 . I have so much to say about that review, and the Internet's response to it, that I'll save it for its own day, because I try not to let these blogs get too long.

Lunch was skipped.

Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:

Id
Ego
Superego

As Mrs. Hagerty pointed out, the decor of this Olive Garden is much more ornate and grandiose than the Fargo branch. As expected, the food is absolutely identical. I was hoping to meet the manager and compare his personal style to that of the three Fargo ones, but I couldn't find him. :(

A special thanks to my dining companion, Sue!

Id

Id
Italian Sausage impressively smothered in Spicy Three Meat Sauce, uniquely enveloped by a baseless basin of Penne
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This particular dish is as Freudian in its presentation as in its name. The id is the portion of your mind that looks at a plate of pasta and wants you to immediately grab it with your bare hands, shove it in your mouth, and then look for something to mate with. Furiously.

Pictured here is Id - and sometimes, an Italian Sausage is just an Italian Sausage.

Ego

Ego
Meatballs impeccably dropped on a mound of Fettuccine, accompanied by Roasted Mushroom Alfredo
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A balance between the two forces of decision making (reptillian want and society-induced morality), the ego is typically described as a "compromiser". I don't agree with that interpretation, since a given human action can typically be broken down as either moral or immoral, and the greyness of a person's soul is more the ratio of one to the other. When we're deciding whether to steal candy from a baby or purchase some from the store, we don't 'compromise' between the two and buy the candy from the baby.

Anyway, regarding this pasta, I don't feel the need to explain how it's related to the concepts discussed above. It's very obvious to any intelligent person.

Pictured here is Ego, and did anyone actually read all that?

Superego

Superego
Marinara hybridized with Chicken Fritta, intriguingly nestled within a bunch of Fettuccine
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Of the three Freudian dishes today, this one is my favorite - it's as edible as it is oedipal!

Pictured here is Superego, and you should eat it because of society, maaaaaan.

Day 22

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The days grow colder, pastas grow warmer, and my sinuses grow mucous-filled-er. It is extremely unpleasant, and I do not envy anyone who has to sit across from me and watch me alternatively sniffle and wince in pain as an errant wire from my braces tears into the soft flesh of my cheek with every chewing motion. Perhaps this is why I have so many first dates, and so few second ones.

Lunch was Sailor's Moon.

Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:

Countershade
Crypsis
Milky Way

That's okay, though. Everything is always downhill after the first date anyway~

A special thanks to my dining companion, Tayler!

Sailor's Moon

Sailor's Moon
Angel Hair kissed with Alfredo, heaped with Shrimp Fritta
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Any longshoreman will tell you that the first they seek when shore leave rolls around is a plate of this classic dish, named for the moonlike circle of pure white alfredo sauce. What happens after the pasta is acquired is anyone's guess, and, frankly, beyond the good taste of this blog.

Pictured here is Sailor's Moon, winning my love by daylight.

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