A/N: Decided to write this rather quickly after having, you guessed it, spaetzle. Frankly I didn't like the kind that I had, but I remember liking it in Germany, so it must have been some weird American version. Anyway, my dad described it as 'German pasta', so… yep.

Okay lets just get on with this.

Spaetzle

Italy found Germany in the kitchen when he came to visit one day. This was not really surprising; Germany often was the one who cooked, as Prussia couldn't seem to be trusted near anything that could even remotely be used as a weapon.

What Italy found interesting was what Germany was making.

"Ve, Germany," he started, not noticing how Germany seemed startled by his sudden presence in the German's house. Italy often showed up uninvited. "What are you making?"

"Ah, hello Italy. I'm making pork chops with gravy and…"

"But what's that?" Italy asked, pointing to a large pot that seemed to be filled with pasta. Italy was thrilled.

"That is spaetzle. I… I don't think you'll like it."

"But it looks like pasta!"

"Yes, I suppose it is… sort of… vaguely like pasta."

"I want to try some!"

"Are you sure?" Germany made his pinchy-frowny face, the one the Italy didn't really like because it made him feel like Germany thought he was a child or something. He was way older than the German country too!

"Ve, of course! I'll eat any pasta!"

"Alright then, sit down."

Italy hopped into one of the chairs and smiled at Germany as the country set down two plates for the both of them. He proceeded to spoon out a large heap of the noodles onto Italy's plate. Italy studied it cautiously.

It did look a little strange, but it at least smelled good. Maybe it was a little bumpy in some places, but Italy had seen a lot of pasta, and sometimes it looked even stranger than this but was still just as good as the regular kind.

He lifted a fork to start eating but Germany held up a hand. "It tastes better with meat."

"Okay, like meatballs or something, right?"

"I guess…"

Germany sighed and placed a pork chop over the noodles, before pouring large spoonfuls of gravy over it all. He then did the same for his own plate.

Now Italy really set to studying the spaetzle. It still smelled good, and he did like German meat, even though this wasn't wurst. But… the gravy seemed a little much.

"You don't put tomato sauce on it?"

Germany looked caught between a laugh and a sigh. He went with the latter.

"Its really different from what you're used to, Italy. I'm afraid you won't like it."

"Germany, I like all pasta!"

And with that, Italy took a bite of the spaetzle.

It was… it was hard. Not crunchy, but firm. And chewy. Italy winced a little.

"Germany, I don't think you cooked it right."

"What do you mean?" Asked Germany around his own mouthful. He seemed to be enjoying it.

"You took it out too early. It's really tough."

This time Germany really did laugh. "It's supposed to be like that." He looked hesitant.

Italy chewed the noodles some more, trying to taste them through the gravy. They tasted… normal. But the texture…

"Germany, you were right…"

"Hmm? About what?"

"I don't like it."

Germany looked like he desperately wanted to say "I told you so". Instead, he just smiled kindly and went to make some wurst.

The next day, Italy showed up again at his house, carrying a huge bowl.

"Germany, ve, Germany," he exclaimed, shoving the bowl into the country's arms.

"What is this?"

"I made you some real pasta!"

END

A/N 2: Sorry for the goofy ending, I just kind of wanted to finish. Also upon research I discovered that spaetzle means 'little sparrow'. That's rather interesting.