On Friday night, against my better judgment I decided to try out cook-at-home pre-packaged gnocchi. (Against my judgment because it was bound to disappoint, and would only increase my wistful jones for good gnocchi.) Yet the bright lights and piped muzak at the Food Emporium compelled me onward. Once convinced, not even an interminable checkout line could dissuade me (in fact it only provided justification for further frivolous purchases and a girly fashion magazine was in my hand before I could count to tre.)

The gnocchi had undergone some version of freeze drying, but it the plastic wasn’t clinging to the contents like Julio Iglesias' skin or a Space Bag Storage Bag. My sad little brain was confused by the ingredient lists in four languages, and it took me a full 10 minutes of turning the package around in my hands like a chimp before I found the cooking instructions. (Apologies to those who stumbled here seeking the sophisticated musings of a seasoned chef but this blog is not written by Foodies.) For some reason, all the user-UNfriendliness impressed me and made me optimistic about the results. Maybe it was the thrill of breaching the integrity of a world I am clearly unqualified for—foreign food shouting at me in a variety of languages!—but whatever the reason, I was psyched. I cooked the pasta according to the instructions, which I finally found in 4-point type using the same symbology as the as the washing instructions on the labels of sweatshop clothing. Since my Frankenstein needed a bride, I heated up some sauce from a jar. (Yes folks, that’s as far as I’m willing to go at home.)

Above are some action-packed images to provide the necessary YOU ARE THERE vibe. Knowing that a beer would prepare my palate for all the subtleties the meal had to offer, I cracked one open.

The end results were…not bad, and better than expected. A tad chewy, but certainly not tough as I feared. I managed to finish the entire bowl, but I kinda regret not paying more attention to the sauce. Let’s face it, even Heinz can approach transcendence with the addition of some fresh garlic, salt, or chopped tomatoes. It got me thinking that perhaps gnocchi is only as good as the sauce it’s dumped in. Cookbooks and TV chefs screech about preparation (“Don’t cook longer than two minutes!!” “Remove immediately from the water!” “RESIST the urge to squish them between your toes before plating!”), but if an ignoramus like me can get it right, adequidequacity* is within anyone’s reach. And thinking back, it has been the sauce that has lifted my past experiences from purgatory to gnocchi rapture.

* A brilliant made-up term referring to the ultimate apex of adequate-ness, coined by Bill MacNeil (Phil Hartman) on TV's Newsradio.

In the interest of science and fairness, I will prepare the rest of the gnocchi at a later date with a sauce worthy of its enigmatic packaging.