Spaghetti aglio olio with shallots, olives and pine-nuts.

I have vanquished blandness. It is a simple matter. Salt the pasta-cooking water with a solemn deportment, as if you were scattering the ashes of a venerable relation into the Aegean Sea. Do not be stingy. Let yourself go. All those myths of hypertension and heart disease are merely scare-tactics, propagated by ascetic nutritionists in order to deflect you from the full enjoyment of your food.

The same with the oil. Olive oil is a wondrous essence, divinity liquefied. Decant a generous amount into the water to prevent the troublesome coherence of floury surfaces, which will be the ruin of your dish. Glug, glug, glug. The best olive oils have a virile and aggressive sunned scent. They should be robust enough to retain their prominence when mingled with other flavours, all of which are competing for the diner's limited palatention.

As for the shallots, see that they do not scorch. Startle them with a fierce flame, and they will soon shrivel to death. Pine-nuts tan easily, especially when you are not looking. On no account should you allow a single immoderately-browned kernel to remain in the mix. Olives are resilient materials and will survive most manhandlings.

What exactly is "al dente"? Standards differ considerably; some desire the contumacy of old sea-coconut, others the pliancy of boiled worms. It is up to you. Drain noodles and combine with oiled ingredients. Then, more oil and more salt. You are allowed this recklessness because you have denied yourself the more extravagant garnishes. Toss through, insouciantly, and serve.