A message from the pasta

I don't care if you roll me like a pipe.
I don't care if you squeeze me so I fold and call me butterfly.
I don't care if you name me orecchiette or little ears.
Just don't pour ketchup on me.
And whatever you do, don't push me away with the fork saying "oh no it's carbs".
Please serve a mountain of me on a plate.
Let it rain olive oil.
Let it snow crumbled vegan cheese.
Cover me with something green, preferably basil leaves.
Ground black pepper if you like.
A lot of olives I don't mind.
Praise the mountain
and enjoy.