When battling arch nemeses, take the tortellone

• Pasta Jay's in Moab is the king of carbs

Editor's note: Despite any coincidental resemblance to the gods of (red) rock, Moab's Pasta Jay is, in fact, Jay Elowsky of Boulder, Colo., the site of his other Pasta Jay's restaurant. Besides his shells and noodles, he is perhaps best known for taking in John and Patsy Ramsey of Boulder after the murder of their daughter, JonBenet.

By David Sweeney

March 20, 2007 | MOAB -- I've racked my noggin, but no one strains his noodle like Pasta Jay.

Finally, Dad, I have a couple of responses to your Q: If you could have any super power, what would it be? and your A: an infinite supply of lightning rods, and the (obviously) conflicting capacities to chuck said rods with deadly accuracy while (somehow) skirting your own incineration.

1) Lame. Use your imagination.

2) I'll fight you with ravioli shells. I want to be Pasta Jay!

You say I vocalized that desire way back in high school. Perhaps I was kidding. A split-second soul-search, however, has revealed how severely I'd underestimated the wisdom in those words.

Think of it. Jay: the enigma. Jay: the legend.

Doge Jay: the larger-than-life restaurateur of that self-titled, red-rockingest Italian eatery that brings delight to the belly of many a Moab tourist.

For a long time, no one around here -- at least, not me -- has so much as glimpsed the guy. I thought I'd finally got him last Friday when I spied a suspicious-looking manager hanging about the restaurant, deftly delegating a mountain of pasta cooking/serving responsibilities. Who but Jay could organize such chaos? Alas, the name badge didn't check out.

Take that, Thor! Jay's a shadowy, noodle-wielding godfather who leaves the rod and takes the tortellone. With minions galore, he need never show face.

Make him an offer: Alfredo or marinara? Sautéed scampi or a personal pizza? Whatever you choose, you can bet he'll have you covered.

Suppose: You've just finished the Canyonlands Half-Marathon, an entire half hour after Mister Penultimate. It's hot. You're hungry. You suck at running, and you're completely exhausted.

Surrounded by a constantly shifting landscape, you realize the bizarre rock formations have started moving more than is typical for March 16, 2007 . . .

A marching arch army is after you!

You appeal to Zeus. The old man makes quick work of your arch nemeses, but you realize his archaic weaponry is powerless to appease your rumbling tummy. In your darkest hour, his pyrotechnics have illumined your soul -- yet he cannot sate your appetite!

But your buddy's boiling skills are topnotch. And he will never let you down -- unless, of course, you want to catch March Madness on CBS. For some reason, he prefers figure skating and sports tickers.

But I digress. For this spring-breaker, Moab means Pasta Jay's and Pasta Jay's means a darn good time. And, if I can't have a superpower that buys me more superpowers, I want to be Pasta Jay.

Still want to toss lightning bolts?

MS
MS