Cooking for Keeps

My own entry into my own challenge. Part truth, part fiction, something to help me work through it all.

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Two years ago, I went to Italy. It was my last college summer, and my first time out of the country. When I'm being honest, and maybe a little dramatic, I'll tell you that it was the last time I was really, truly, happy. That isn't much of a stretch; I was happy, incredibly so. I traveled the world, stepping further out of my comfort zone than ever, and I had a boy back home I was completely in love with. I spent my days soaking up all the sights of Europe, and my nights staying up way too late talking to him about my days, making up for the time difference. I can still look back on that summer so fondly, although it is a little shadowed by him, as many things were when he left.

I'm thinking about Italy tonight. A specific Italian dish, to be precise. Spaghetti Aglio e Olio, which is basically Italian for spaghetti with a shit ton of olive oil and garlic. A simple recipe for a perfect meal. Simple, delicious, and for those of us who enjoy our pasta on a deeper level, incredibly sexy. It is the dish I chose for tonight, for him. The first meal I've made for a man in well, two years.

So here's the recipe. I'm not one for exact measurements, I measure by eye, so, as I said, we start with a shit ton of garlic and olive oil. At least five cloves of garlic, thinly sliced, more if you're tenacious, and enough olive oil to cover it, drowning it a little. Use the good olive oil, not the cheap kind, we're trying to impress with this dish. I throw the two ingredients into my beloved cast iron skillet, letting them dance together until the garlic is lightly browned. In the meantime, pasta is in the pot boiling. Salted water, of course, always salt the water! I add red pepper flakes to the garlic and olive oil, for a little bit of spice. Fresh parsley and lemon juice sit to the side, to be added to the skillet with the spaghetti and a little of that salty, starchy pasta water. The bottle of white wine chills in the fridge. A tiny splash in the pasta, the rest for drinking. The pasta is almost done, as is the garlic, and I look up at the clock. 7:25. He'll be here in five minutes. I look around my studio apartment. It is cute, but small, all mine. The scent of garlic fills the entire place. I don't always cook with it much, as it ends up making my apartment garlic-scented for a couple days, but hey, special occasion. My eyes linger on the bed for a moment. A downside of a studio apartment is that the bed is always out, on display, essentially the center of attention. I know it will catch his eye as well, maybe make him wonder. It's fine, I thought about it too. I cleaned the place from floor to ceiling, lit candles, put a record on, freshly cleaned sheets on the bed, condoms in the nightstand. We've been on a few dates, so, maybe it is time. First time in two years...

The timer beeps, bringing me back. The spaghetti is done. And then, as if on queue, there's a knock at the door.

I open it. He comes in, and looks around for a moment. His eyes don't linger on the bed, but on the cast iron skillet.

"Hey!" He leans in for a kiss. "It smells wonderful!"