Italian Memories :.

November 10, 2007

I was cooking my infamous secret recipe “Coronary” lasagna today, and as I was making the cheese sauce, I couldn’t help but smile as the memories of cooking in a danky kitchen in a London flat on a chilly night.

The great secret to the lasagna, is that the recipe is not mine. It was Leo’s, a cute guy with dark hair and blue eyes, whom I was sure had Italian in his blood. His temper was as fiery and fiesty as his cooking. And whoa, could that boy cook. He was as passionate about food as he was in the bedroom, and that’s all I’ll say.

He tried to teach me to chop onions and garlic (which I never do anyway), cook decent eggs, prepare pasta, put together a mean rissotto that would not only feed your soul, but comfort it through the harsh winter nights in London. He showed me that when you cook, passion and especially, love had to go in every drop of the dish, and it turns out amazing. (Seriously, his eggs florentine were to die for.)

He’d boss me around in his kitchen, as if I was his sous chef, and we’d always argue, me about how I could not cook and would not cook, and him usually about how since I was eating, I was helping. No matter how loud and raucous the fights were, we’d always end up staring each other down at the dinner table, eating richly and luciously, and retiring to burn all the calories.

It was a short lived affair that ended quite as passionately and loud as when he cooked. Leo did teach me a few things, a few secrets that I’m keeping ’til I teach them to my own daughter. If she should have one skill, let it be the ability to make the most amazing lasagna. She’d at least be in no shortage of Italian men wanting to marry her.

The recipe is still under wraps, in case you were wondering.

And if you’re thinking of locating Leo, I’m not helping you in that department either.


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