Angel Hair

“I’ll make dinner for you.” I said to Heidi.

“You can cook?”

“Well, I can make a few things.”

“Like what? Spaghetti? American men can’t cook. They all cook spaghetti from a jar.”

Those are fighting words. “Let me show you.”

“OK. What will you make me?”

“Spaghetti.”

She laughed. “OK. You’re so cute. I’ll eat your spaghetti.”

So Heidi came over to my humble home on Saturday afternoon. I asked her to help me do some of the cooking – mostly just keep my wine glass full as I cooked.

I was cooking to impress. The tomatoes and basil in the back yard are doing really well, despite a great deal of neglect this year. I would be making the pasta up fresh. To make really good pasta, you need to start with good ingredients. I start with North Dakota hard durum wheat flour with a fine grind. Mix this with free range eggs (yes, it really makes a difference you can taste) and some good Italian olive oil and you have the dough for some of the best pasta you’ll ever eat.

“Can you get me the flour from the pantry?” I asked her.

She went over to the pantry and searched for the flour. “You are such a bachelor.” She called out.

“Why?”

“Did you know you have 4 containers of rice open?”

“Actually, I have 6.”

“Six!?”

“Yeah, unless my roommates are raiding the pantry again I should have 6 containers of rice open. They are all different kinds. You can’t eat curry with an Arborio rice. You can’t make risotto with a long grain rice.” I must have at least 8 olive oils open, too.

“Oh. I didn’t even know there were 6 kinds of rice.”

She handed me the flour and I made the pasta, and later ran it through the pasta machine to make angel hair – capellini.

I sautéed some fresh roma tomatoes from the yard in good olive oil with garlic, and added some fresh home grown basil and a touch of oregano at the end. It takes only a few minutes to cook, but it is the true taste of summer.

I tried to make a Caesar salad, but the dressing didn’t come out quite right – although Heidi oohed over it anyway.

We drank a bottle of Antinori Tignanello, 1995. I was saving it for just such an occasion.

“That was the most delicious spaghetti that I ever had.” She told me, and kissed me. “And I’ve been to Italy. I take it back. There is at least one American man that can cook.”

“Thank you.” I said.

We sat on the back deck until it got dark. We had finished the wine. I walked her to her car and kissed her goodnight. “When can you cook for me again?”

“You can come over any time.”