Gemelli Pasta - Coal-Fired Memories and Creamy Cravings

The first time I had pasta cooked over coal, I was standing on a bustling street in Mumbai—humidity in the air, honking all around, and the irresistible smell of something cheesy and smoky wafting from a little stall lit by a flickering tube light.

The vendor’s name escapes me now—maybe Raj, maybe Imran—but what I remember, with delicious clarity, is the pasta. Creamy, rich, bubbling in a steel wok over live coals, stirred with a passion you usually reserve for classical music or cricket commentary.

We hadn’t planned to stop. My husband and I were just walking after dinner, full already, but the aroma? The aroma whispered promises our dinner didn’t. So we ordered “just one plate to try.”

It came with potato wedges—not your ordinary fries, but thick, golden, seasoned chunks topped with chopped coriander, red chilli flakes, and some secret masala that made you close your eyes after the first bite. On the shelf behind him were rows of toppings: mayo, cheese sauce, olives, even a small jar labeled “peri peri surprise.” People stood around, DIY-ing their bowls like artists at a palette.

We devoured that pasta like we hadn’t eaten in years. We scraped the last creamy swirl from the bowl and ordered another. And yes, we packed some more “just in case” for the hotel. Spoiler: we ate it before midnight.

Last night, I tried to recreate that magic. I didn’t have coals, nor the same masala, but I did have time (well, barely) and a good memory. Gemelli pasta, quick creamy sauce, a side of wedges, and garlic bread toasted just enough to feel indulgent.

As I stirred the pot, I was back in Mumbai. In that moment, the aroma was more than food—it was a bridge across time, cities, and heartbeats.

We ate on our couch, the pasta still piping hot. And when I reached for seconds and saw my husband already licking the spoon, I knew I’d come close to that magic again.

And the leftovers today? Oh, they taste like love reheated.