You think stage mothers have it bad. Try being a stage wife.

	Krista Schinagl, Post-Gazette A pound of spaghetti is an empty palette on which to create. Click photo for larger image. More information For information on Mc Knight Players' dinner theater, which opens Thursday and runs through Sunday, call 412-719-1614 and leave a message. PG Tested recipe Pasta with Sun-Dried Tomatoes, Garlic and Black Olives

Our annual church dinner theater opens Thursday. My Scandinavian husband, Ace, is playing an Italian, Nunzio, and he has been singing in the shower. He modestly mumbles hymns in church but has never before sung in the shower. He watches "Moonstruck" over and over -- not to check out Cher but to hone in on her father's accent. Some nights I find him murmuring to himself, madly waving his hands.

He isn't worried about learning his lines or even his accent. He's worried about singing onstage.

"Do you want me to run your lines?" I ask, thinking of Hugh Grant helping Julia Roberts with hers in "Notting Hill."

"Not right now," he says.

"When will I hear you sing?"

"Not until opening night."

The play is called "Over the River and Through the Woods." I thought it was about Thanksgiving dinner. Turns out it's about love, old age, marriage or the lack thereof, life and death. It's an upper, it's a downer. It's not about Turkey Day, but it is about giving thanks.

And it's about food.

"We're always eating onstage," Ace says. "I told them I'd bring the food."

"You mean my usual delicious homemade desserts for the audience?" I ask.

No, the food they eat onstage.

So it turns out that though I may not be onstage this year, I have an important role to play. Soon, my mind races with the dire thoughts of any food editor who has written too many stories about food-borne illness. This is going to be one maddening meal to make:

1. The food should be Italian.

2. It can't be hot, because there's no range.

3. It can't be cold, because there's no refrigerator.

4. It can't be too soft, because it will squish.

5. It can't be too hard, because nobody wants to watch an actor who talks with his mouth full.

Two hours is the maximum amount of time a food should be held at room temperature, one hour if it's hot outside. I wonder how long it takes for food to self-destruct under steaming stage lights.

Like our talented stage designer, Judy Freese, I am committed to proper props. I will choose a perfect recipe. I am neither artist nor food stylist, but I have chosen spaghetti as my palette. Make that palate.

Luckily, a wonderful new cookbook called simply "Pasta" by Eric Treuille and Anna Del Conte (DK Publishing; $20) fell onto my desk. Drooling over one dish after another, I feel flummoxed. The Seafood Extravaganza looks fabulous, but it would cost more than the royalties for playwright Joe DiPietro. The Pizzaiola, with its 1 3/4 pounds of rump steak, looks perfect, but it has to be served hot. I linger over the Puttanesca, until I imagine Nunzio with tomato sauce down the front of his shirt. In front of the neighbors! At least when we're entertaining at home, he can make a mad dash to the sink.

An hour later, amazed at the beautiful photographs that illustrate the difference between "roughly chopped" parsley and "finely chopped" parsley and illuminated by step-by-step instructions on making fresh ravioli, I still haven't landed on a pristine prop. Although "Over the River" is an intersection of food and family, surely it's bad form for an Italian meatball to go rolling off the stage into the crowd.

Meanwhile, I get sidetracked. Thinking of all the summer bridal couples, I consider passing on pasta tips from this delightful cookbook: How much pasta? The salt. The boil. The bite. The drain. The toss. The recipes.

I yearn to cook them all. Then I happen on Pasta with Sun-Dried Tomatoes, Garlic and Black Olives. It's quick, taking no longer to mix the sauce than it takes the spaghetti to cook.

It's not al dente, but it will have a little more bite served as a "salad" at room temperature. I hope the rest of the cast like the hot pepper flakes as much as Ace does. If garlic really does make us reek, the cast ought to provide quite a scent for the stage-door crowd.

My dream is to inspire the audience to salivate for my spaghetti, or at least try it at home. In the meantime, I will offer my services in Spaghetti Etiquette 101, which I picked up at the "pasta fights back" seminar in Rome. Ever since graduating from Chef Boyardee in a can, I have handled spaghetti with a fork in my left hand and a spoon in my right, twirling the pasta into a spiral. Right away, I noticed that's not how the Romans do it.

For starters, Europeans eat with their left hands (perfect for a southpaw like me), but their noodles find their way into their mouth with only a fork. Curious, I nervously crept up to the expert on all things Italian. Why do we use a spoon and the Italians don't?

"You Americans probably try to eat too much at a time," she said.

Here's hoping Nunzio won't be too busy talking with his hands to single-handedly eat his spaghetti.