Dinner at Home - Puttanesca of Sorts

It begins with garlic, waiting smugly in its papery skin. Smash, peel, mince. Slide the sticky, tiny pieces off the flat side of the knife, into olive oil waiting shiny and level in the bottom of the saucepan. Turn on the flame, let it heat slow, slow. Now, the cheat (silent penance paid to Mama, hail mary or some such thing): add jar of good pre-made sauce as a base. Splash of red wine, splash of "balsamic" vinegar, red chili flakes, kalamata olives, some whole basil leaves for slow extraction, simmer on low while Smooth Melon makes pesto for freezing so the rest of the basil finds a purpose and pleases later, mid-winter.

Stir the simmering sauce. Taste ...more red chili flakes, a little salt. Let it do its thing. Wash the salad greens, dance a little bit around the kitchen.

Stir the sugo with a wooden spoon, lift it up from the saucepan, cup my hand under it carefully, in a wide c-shape, like I'm cradling a baby bird, lift it to my mouth and softly blow ... touch it to my lips. Taste. I watched my mother do this a million times. Even the way my tongue touches my upper lip, the way I blink, pause and nod. It's just like her.

Whisk the vinaigrette and toss the greens till they shimmer.

Big pot of water on to boil, let the salt slide from between pinched and rubbing fingers, making a circle above the water and watching it vanish into the bubbles.

Scoop up handfuls of rattling, dry pasta, floury in my palm, cast it quickly into the pot, arching backward to avoid the small, burning splash.

Stir pasta, listen to it clack against the spoon, still hard.

Lift the pasta bowls down from the shelf. Grate the parmeggiano-reggiano. Nibble a chunk. Peer at its perfectly rough, broken edges, run a forefinger along the rind.

Stir the pasta. Lift it up from the water, squint at the telltale yellow opacity, working toward translucent at the corners. Not quite done.

Wrap and heat the bread.

Stir the pasta, watch it swirl like a school of fish, somersaulting up and down, rolling in the churning water. Chase a single piece to the side, jiggle in the spoon to cool, slip it into a waiting palm, then mouth, then bite. Al dente.

Two-handed, dump the pot's contents into colander. A whoosh of steam, splatter of noodles, lift the colander and shake, toss, shake, quick rinse under hot water, shake again, slide pasta into the waiting bowls, quick quick sauce spooned on and tossed gently so the noodles don't stick. Top with more sauce, divvying out olives between portions.

Hurry. Bread out of the oven, slice it with grandma's mean, graceful bread knife, watch the crusty shrapnel fly and the yeasty steam rise. Toss into a basket, cover with towel.

Parmeggiano on the pasta, a little more parmeggiano, a giddy fling of chopped fresh basil, smile at the colors, wipe the rims, to the table.

Wine poured. Glasses clinked. Fork to bowl to mouth to mmmmmmm ...