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The National Pasta

August 08, 1996|PHIL ANDRES

Limp bats, lifeless mitts and balls that drape rather than bounce across the plate. It can mean only one of two things: Either the ghost of Salvador Dali has been appointed baseball commissioner or someone has just cooked up a batch of Baseball Pasta. The bite-size noodles are perfect for nights when you can't make it to the game but still want to thrill at America's pastime. And as players' salaries become more surreal, the pasta is a good metaphor as well.

Available at Jordano's in Santa Barbara.

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