If I order a bowl of spaghetti in Cuba, and it is prepared by an American chef and served to me by a Hungarian waitress… it is still a bowl of spaghetti.
It may be unpalatable, or it may be delicious - but it is an authentic bonafide bowl of spaghetti through and through.
It consists of long, thin, cylindrical, solid pasta… and if you get that part just right… you’ve unequivocally got yourself a bowl of spaghetti.
Sure it was invented, named and perfected in Sicily, and maybe that is a part of it’s charm and appeal. But its place of origin, and where its idiosyncrasies were honed, are by no means attributes that prohibit the subsequent creation of a bowl of spaghetti in any way shape or form. William Merritt Chase was an impressionist, Keith Urban is a country music artist, Saleva’a Atisano’e is a Sumo wrestler and a bowl of spaghetti from The Spaghetti Warehouse in Memphis Tennessee is… you guessed it… a bowl of spaghetti.
The menu doesn’t list it as (and you wouldn’t order it as) a bowl of “Italian” spaghetti nor “imitation” spaghetti. You, and everyone else, would simply order a bowl of spaghetti. An Italian dish whose defining qualities can be recreated anywhere in the world… by anyone… and still be recognized and respected as a bowl of spaghetti. Furthermore one would not dismiss or refuse a bowl of spaghetti served to them just because it was not airdropped on to their table from a helicopter by way of the Leonardo da Vinci airport.
If I order a bowl of spaghetti on Gallifrey, and it is prepared by an Elfin chef and served to me by Cthulhu himself… it is still a bowl of spaghetti.
Bon appétit!
