There's a stack of old Polaroids from university days — late night study sessions, friends gathered around tiny kitchen tables, the amber glow of a single overhead light. This pasta was our ritual, the thing you made when the library closed and hunger hit hard. The recipe came from someone's Italian grandmother, scribbled on the back of a photo from a family gathering in '76. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. Just garlic, oil, chilli, and that particular kind of comfort that only comes from simple food made with your own hands when the world is quiet and the day is done.