Caroline Ringskog Ferrada-Nolli on pasta and inflation

There was a time when a divorced father could give his children osso buco

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It was my father Chilean, but I thought it was Italian, because every time we were at my father's we ate pasta. The sauces had names, and while I was teaching my children simple Italian cooking, he was teaching us, whether it was three of us or all eight of our siblings sitting around the dinner table, to say Bologna sauce Instead of meat sauce and so on. He would walk around town getting parmesan, basil, and olive oil from different taps. It wasn't expensive! The value was in the knowledge. He had a secret. An enchanted world, share it with us.

As I got older, I tried to recreate what he taught me. Crushed pine. He kept the cherries and Marsala wine in the sauce. I moved to a street in Siberia, which coincidentally is the street where Chez Albert is located, the legendary spice shop where my father used to shop in the 1990s. It so happened that the present intertwined with the past when she reached Albert before he clapped again for good. And there they were, the cans of olive oil, the bags of rice, that I saw in so many apartment kitchens in multimillion-dollar apartments across the North on weekends that became weekends that became a few days a year. But this is not a post about men and divorce in the 1980s. The days we were there, or so to speak the evenings, contained a world, Genoese pesto – Did I know we have relatives in Genova? It is located near the city of Noli. Noli! Like our name! And we ate. It was not appropriate for my father to collect carbonara, puttanesca, or norma.

I am thinking about That's when I was reading Victor Malms Text in Expressen About pasta being childish. OK. Says someone ate his ancestors with a tree branch.

No, but kidding aside. Above all, it is cheap. Maybe it's baby food. Pasta is the ultimate food.

Yes. I've read the reports. The couple has I can't handle a divorce longer in Sweden. But is there something wrong? Is this information that doesn't tell the whole story?

Do today's rising food prices blind my sense of my history? Am I Gaslighted by Eka? Because the truth is, it's not the “husbands” who can't “afford” a divorce. Traders are the ones who deceive us. When everyone cried during inflation, they laughed all the way to the bank. Ica's profits increased by 403 percent last year. These are not “bad times.” It's capitalism.

It was my father Eight children. But didn't we eat osso buco? Saltimbocca? Vitello tonnato? Pasta was just good. It seems impossible to imagine today. A trade that does not retain its flesh? A divorced immigrant with no worries? Traders are washing my real memory and replacing it with the lie that I can't afford leeks, when in fact they have risen 33 per cent since December.

You can read everywhere that families with children cannot afford food. this is not true. The truth is they are robbing us.