For lunch, Jonathan made the best pasta with spinach and garlic that I have ever tasted. I took a bite and put down the fork. “What are hiding from me,” I said.
“What did you do to these noodles?”
“This is how you make them.”
I didn’t believe him for a minute.
Except what reason does he have to lie to me? I’m crazy enough as it is. I can’t imagine he would think that it would do him any favors to wind me any tighter.
I revisited the idea that he could be telling the truth. Have I lost the sense to judge what I make? Very possible. Very, very.
I am in a sort of a situation at the moment, where I am putting my entire self on the line. Everything I have–from who I am and what moves me to all that I know and all that I love is on the table and on the camera.
When you decide to take a running leap across the chasm of doubt and everything that has kept you from leaping for real before, there is no way that it is going to be an easy ride to the other side. I know that when I get there I will be shooting from the hip and walking tall and talking straight, but Jesus, it’s deep in the middle. Though it might seem the perfect time to rip everything apart and ask one million times, did I make the right choice, and have I ever made sense or a decent dinner, I find that in the middle of the leap, the only thing left to do is commit to the leap. Love the leap.
To get the groove back:
Simmer shallots until they have melted in a little butter and olive oil; add finely slivered garlic, pignoli, currants and then spinach–tiny, teeny leaves–with a little salt and black pepper. Then add al dente pasta, along with a spoonful of the cooking water if you need it, and a good handful of Parmigiano Reggiano.