Writing these pieces is sometimes difficult – there are only so many things one person can think of to say regarding the Dominican Republic and food on a weekly basis. So my lovely friend Natalie said to me, "Write about spaghetti!" "Spaghetti?" said I. "You know…los espaguetis!" "Ohhhh. Los espaguetis." ‘Cause that’s, like, a whole 'nother food.

I was caught off-guard the first time I was served a plate of Dominican espaguetis, having always been accustomed to my pasta al dente, a la italiana. Well. This spaghetti was positively bathed in an orange gleam of oil, with shards of green peppers, chunks of salami, and, of all things, vinegar (!) thrown into the mix. But a bigger shock still was to see the spaghetti sharing a plate with a mound of rice. Where I’m from, spaghetti takes second stage to no other cereal, and carries a meal on the shoulders of its own multifarious merits. As far as I was concerned, this was nothing less than blasphemy.

I shunned los espaguetis for a long time, turning my nose up at the incognito noodles. Until one day, we loaded up the truck en route to a velorio (or wake) for one of my husband’s relatives in the campo. It took us longer to get there than expected, and when we did, we discovered that the food had run out. Starving, we were given the keys to an aunt’s house, where we proceeded to whip up something quick for our rather large group of children, elderly, and your basically famished adults. The nearest colmado, however, could only offer us one option for an economical and plentiful meal: espaguetis.

Hunger having weakened my resolved, and for fear of appearing the spoiled gringa in the campo, I had no choice but to cease and desist my anti-espaguetis campaign. With a tinge of picante, procured in the form of hot peppers straight from the auntie’s garden, and no rice to upstage the star of the show, I found myself enjoying spaghetti in a whole new way. I think I ate two plates.

If a moral were to be attached to this story perhaps most apropos would be: never judge a spaghetti by its sauce. Or, ask yourselves, what's in a spaghetti? A spaghetti by any other cooking method would still taste as sweet. Okay, well, not sweet, per se, but just as good. Different, but good. That's it - vive la difference!

By Aunt Jane