Cooking Pasta is Kind of like the Holocaust
They’re all squirming in there, going “nooo, we’re boiling!”, and you have to mix them around and look for two huddled closely together to push back that inevitable fate of preparation for their demise, just an inch, just an second, just a little more. No, you must tear them apart, for they will cook faster and more evenly when each one is all alone. The mental pressure of a fascist regime cannot be all that different from the feeling of boiling water pressing on you from all sides, surrounding you, all alone.
