Vintage for the win

The man I love, makes clothes. Not just any clothes. Clothes that take your breath away. Beautiful clothes that fit like nothing ever fit before. The colors remind you of what color is meant to be and the fabrics make you want to hug them like a lover. I used to be able to keep all the clothes I own in a chest that would fit in the backseat of a compact car–I cook–the only clothing requirement I have is that I have something I can wear, and something I can wash for the next day.
Not any more. He gives me clothes as if they were Sunday breakfast. “Here you go,” he says. “Try that on for a walk.”
But what I wear now, what I reach for every morning when I talk myself into getting out of the bed for another day of soldiering through, are the sweaters that he left folded up on his dresser, because he knew I loved them. Stuff that he had worn for years, pocked with holes and saturated with the essence of him. Stuff that brings him back to me.
I don’t know exactly when I will see him again, but the first thing I will make for him will be a lemon cream pasta. The one where you simmer a pint of heavy cream with a few wide strips of lemon zest, taken off with a peeler, a clove of garlic, a few sprigs of thyme, and a good grind of black pepper. I am sure I have already told you how to make this, but I will tell you again. I simmer it over a low flame, until the garlic is soft, and then smash it through a sieve to strain the sauce. The best pasta to use with this is, homemade. One that doesn’t have too many eggs, so it doesn’t compete with the cream. Roll it out on a wooden board until you can just begin to see through it. Hang it in sheets over the back of a chair and then fold the sheets up like a business letter. Cut into narrow strips. Boil the pasta for 2-3 minutes and then drop into the simmering sauce. Shower with parmigiana reggiano, or a pecorino from the Marches, Umbria, or Tuscany.

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