Laudator Temporis Acti

M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating (Cleveland: World Publishing Company, 1954), pp. 611-612 (from An Alphabet for Gourmets, entry F is for Family):

Have a bowl of grated Parmesan, genuine and sandy and unadulterated by domestic packaged stuff; a large pat of sweet butter; a good salt shaker and a freshly filled pepper-mill; as many hot plates as there are people, and a big, hot casserole with a lump of butter melting in the bottom.

Cook good spaghetti rapidly in plenty of boiling water. (If the spaghetti is really reputable I do not salt the pot.) When half cooked add a lump of butter or a tablespoonful of olive oil; this keeps the water from boiling over and seems to eliminate the danger of sticking. When a strand of the spaghetti (of course not broken beforehand) can be pinched between my thumb and forefinger, I think it is done, somewhat more than al dente but not too soft. Then pour it it, throw it almost, into a big colander, dash very cold water thoroughly through it and then boiling hot water even more thoroughly (I know this is a heinous procedure to some gastronomical purists), and shake it furiously to dry it off a little. Pour it, blazing hot, into the almost sizzling casserole, and serve it immediately on the equally hot plate of whoever is hungry for it.

The next step precludes any so-called table manners: it must be carried out with rapidity, a skill easy to enlarge by pleasurable practice, and undaunted enthusiasm. Put a generous lump of sweet butter on top of the pile of spaghetti (first served first come...); shake and twist on the salt and pepper, also generously; pile Parmesan on top, and with your fork mix the whole into an odorous, steamy, rich, Medusa-like tangle.

All that is left is to eat it. That, according to the general bien-être and relaxation which should by now have spread through the company, is perhaps best left undescribed.