The pasta party is one of those things that the name alone should tell you everything. Pasta. Party. What else do you want to know? I’m definitely going. When we run on the road, it must be said, the pasta party might happen to be a little constipated: it’s not his fault, it’s our fault. When we train for a marathon or a half marathon or maybe a very fast 10k, we watch every gram we ingest. The carboload uncontrolled is a myth that is now debunked, and yes, okay the anabolic window-that is, that post-race time frame in which we can feed as if our body is still under stress-but let’s not exaggerate that tomorrow then I have 5k of unloading early in the morning and then from Tuesday I start again with repeats.
For trail runners, on the other hand, the pasta party is a sacred ritual almost comparable to the third half of rugby. I have trained, I have toiled, now give me plenty to eat and drink, and no one will be hurt.
In a fairly recognizable organizational pattern, we can identify three types (plus one) of pasta parties:
The veracious pasta party
It is the original one, so to speak. Volunteers (always be praised) cook dozens of kilos of pasta with sauce. It is usually short pasta, penne or rigatoni: for obvious reasons you are unlikely to find spaghetti at the pasta party, in fact pray you don’t. Instead, you will always find a plain alternative, if you are in the mood for tomato you can find meat sauce instead of tomato.
When the race is over, you get in line-with your bib-and receive your hearty plate of pasta, perhaps with a small bottle of water. Easy, quick, clean. In case of exaggerated hunger, you can try to tenderize the aforementioned volunteers for a second course-they almost always have surplus, so it does no harm to try and it often works.
The chic pasta party
In this case you are likely to find a voucher of some value in the race pack, to be spent freely at the food area at the finish line. Here there is definitely more choice and usually higher quality as well, volunteers are more likely to be replaced by street food professionals. With quantities, on the other hand, you can go right or wrong: I still remember, in Cortina, a salami and melted cheese sandwich that hello.
The pasta party sòla
This is the occasion when all your illusions and expectations collide with harsh reality. You’re sweaty, you’re tired, you’re hungry, and you need that pasta dish you’ve been dreaming about for at least the last five kilometers of the race. I don’t want to exaggerate, but yes, that’s the only reason you didn’t retire and drag yourself to the finish line. And this would be the reward? The pasta party sòla you recognize almost immediately because it is served in those plastic saucers in which they usually serve you dessert. “It’s little” is your first thought, “let’s hope at least it’s good” you naively add as your brain registers fleeting images of dozens of half-filled saucers abandoned everywhere.
A few years ago I participated in an overnight half marathon, in Liguria. Arrival was roughly from 10:30 p.m. onward, it was bloody cold. Once the race was over, time to cover up and I discovered that the pasta party was 2 km after the finish line. And okay, I had done twenty-one, two more what will it be. Then I saw the saucer [saucer alert / saucer alert / new prime directive: flee]; then I saw that in the saucer was a frosty rice salad; then I saw that the topping of the frosty rice salad was some frosty pickled spring onions. By now it was after 11:30 p.m. and to eat elsewhere there was no way, typical Ligurian hospitality. In these cases it is much better that there is no pasta party: at least you have no illusions.
No pasta no party
On many occasions the truth is that there is no pasta party. The reasons may be many: economic, logistical, organizational. It is not a constitutional right, so nothing wrong with it. In fact, if you know beforehand you organize, you book, and after the race you get together with your crew-and maybe some new friends you meet along the way-in the midst of a rowdy and joyful table. Mixed taglieri, pizzoccheri, polenta, shin with potatoes, and spaghetti allo scoglio are de rigueur.
Remember: the pasta party is a big slog for those who organize it, and in 90 percent of cases they are volunteers. Be kind, say thank you, and remember that you are not at a restaurant: chances are the pasta is not as good as what your grandmother makes. In short, don’t complain. Unless you get rice salad with spring onions, of course.
(cover photo by ali nafezarefi on Unsplash)
