Garden Eggplant and Tomato Pasta
I sat comfortably at the kitchen table. Waiting.
The sound of a ladle dipping and tongs turning pasta.
He presented the bowl from my right. Placing it gently onto the plate in front of me.
I inhaled. I looked up. I smiled. This looks wonderful.
Spaghetti with diced eggplant, tomato and basil, from the garden. A chili pepper added a bit of heat. Some white wine and capers added a bit of acidity and finesse. Garlic. Shallot. Extra virgin olive oil. Pasta water. The slightest hint of heavy cream—if it equaled two tablespoons, I'd be surprised.
A grating of fresh paremsan.
The tines twisted the tendrils, sweeping up bits of tomato, eggplant and ribbons of basil.
I couldn't get enough. This seems to always be the case. My stomach is built for pasta. In this house it flows freely. Like water. Like wine.
I heard the swish of the flame and another ladle of pasta water hitting the pan.
The second bowl. Smaller. Slight. What was left.
When my bowl was empty, the spell was lifted. I set it off to the side. The signal that I was ready for the second course.