Crying spaghetti is the bomb, reports a friend, home from Seattle. Obviously. Who can resist a name like that?
Why, I worried, would spaghetti cry? Was it heartbreak, like the 1964 song "The Crying Game"? Was it the Troubles, like the 1992 movie "The Crying Game"? Or heartbreak, like the 2014 song "The Crying Game"? Cause for concern.
Possibly misplaced. Maybe the dish celebrated the Flying Spaghetti Monster, deity of a recently made-up religion. I relished the idea of slurping spaghetti while wearing an upside-down colander, in the style of the Pastafarians. Not flying, my friend corrected, crying.
I checked the source, the menu of a restaurant called The London Plane. The noodles, bolstered with browned lamb and brightened with fresh lime, seemed to be crying from a surfeit of red peppers _ much like the Thai beef dish, crying tiger. Crying spaghetti, I noted, lacks spaghetti.
Inspiration enough to compile a made-up version. This one twirls crisp hazelnuts, fresh herbs and spicy pepper paste into a heap of bucatini. Ample reason for happy tears.
