Babe told me a story.

[Ziggy and Angelbaby]

Babe told me a story about the perfect plate of spaghetti:

The noodles (presumably angel hair) would be so finely made that they would only be visible from a certain angle. They would be strong enough to tie to the end of a balcony and climb down their length, but they would instantly melt in your mouth and leave behind a delicious buttery flavor. Ordinary meatballs would be too embarrassed to go anywhere near such noodles; blushing bright red and rolling away awkwardly.

Only a special meatball could keep the company of such fine noodles. It would be multi-layered: A layer of beef surrounding a layer of turkey surrounding a core of chicken. Increasingly moist. "Please eat us," they would call, silently. Telepathically seducing your taste buds.

The sauce would be drained from The Tomato; an enormous, bright red thing with a spicket protruding from its side. You can't leave things like the perfect sauce up to chance. Relying upon numerous different tomatoes. No: All of the perfect sauce would derive from this one gigantic specimen. The sauce would of course be collected by gnomes on stilts who wore bowl-shaped hats to collect the precious sauce.

And then you'd have the perfect plate of spaghetti. Obviously the plate itself hardly matters.