Death By Carbs Read Free Page A

down to the kitchen.
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    Marco kneaded the dough by hand, the way his nonna and her nonna before her, and her nonna before her, used to back in Italy. The methods were identical; only the ingredients were different. Not eggs from the back garden, or home-milled flour, or butter from freshly milked, grass-fed, free-to-roam cows, but the local equivalents from Oranjezicht City Farm instead.
    He wiped his forehead with floury fingers, getting clods of dough stuck in his thick black hair. He ignored them and went back to knead-
ing. He didn’t know of a more contemplative or therapeutic pastime. Once the dough was in the fridge, he heaved his nonna’s ancient stainless-steel pasta machine out of the cupboard and set it up on the counter, before turning on the stove to bring a pot of lightly salted
water with a splash of extra-virgin olive oil to the boil. He ran his hand over the cool steel of the pasta maker. It weighed a ton, and was as solid as a battleship. They didn’t make things like this anymore.
    While Marco’s homemade pasta came to the boil, he whipped up
a basil pesto, using fresh pine kernels and leaves he had picked from
the potted basil on the windowsill, one by one.
    He drained his al dente pasta into the sink, then dished up a large bowl of it, spooned in the pesto, grated in shavings off a large wedge of Parmesan, and finished it with pinches of Maldon salt, fresh parsley from another pot on the windowsill, and a couple of turns of pepper from a large wooden grinder he and Chris had received as a wedding present.
    Marco settled at the kitchen counter, dug his fork into the bowl
and gave the pasta a twirl, wrapping it around his fork, and scooping
it into his mouth with the aid of a spoon, Italian-style. Once he’d finished the first bowl, he dished up a second, and then a third, and finally a fourth bowl. This time he didn’t bother sitting down; he stood beside the Smeg, dug his fork in, twirled the pasta around it and
leaned against the cool brushed-steel refrigerator, shovelling the pasta into his mouth as tears poured down his cheeks, marking trails
through the flour that dusted his face. He slid down the fridge and landed on the black-and-white chequered kitchen floor, sobbing, the half-empty bowl lying in his lap, the fresh pasta turning flabby.
    Marco was crying so loudly, he didn’t hear the footsteps until Chris was bending down beside him.
    â€˜Oh honey,’ Chris said gently, taking the bowl from him, ‘not again.’
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THE FANS
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    Wednesday 6:09am
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    THE BANTING FOR LIFE FACEBOOK PAGE
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    Deborah Gogh
    I have terrible news for all my Banting friends and fans on this page. I just read on Twitter that Professor Tim Noakes died after an attack in his home in the early hours of this morning.
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    Phillip Stewart Is this somce kind of joke? Because if it is its not funny.
    Like 46
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    Melissa Giles It’s true. I went to go look on Twitter. How did he die? Does anyone know any other information or circumstances? My condolences go out to us and his family.
    Like 12
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    Borrie Human HOW? WHAT! THIS CANT’ BE! I DONT’UNDERSTAND
    Like 19
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    Deborah Gogh From what I can see on Twitter, the police haven’t yet released a statement. It’s such sad news. I just can’t believe it. I was reading his book only this morning, it’s become my bible.
    Like 42
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    Margie Oosthuizen Do they know how he died?
    Like 2
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    Murray Bruvick I hope he didn’t have a heart attack!!
    Like 31
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    Charte Tonder That would be really bad!
    Like 19
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    Kwela McKaiser They’re saying he was murdered and there’s some pictures of face full of blood from someone’s cell phone on the scene which is very blurry. But it hasn’t been confirmed by the authorities yet.
    Like 21
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    Murray Bruvick Phew, as long as he didn’t have a heart attack!!
    Like 19
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    Joanne Sloanne My condonlenses go out