Kitchen Sketches (4)

You might be feeling special, upbeat, swinging kind of upbeat, dancing kind, even jumping, you might want to drink some wine in the kitchen, even pour some in the sauce, because it is pasta day.

It is the day we crush tomatoes with bare hands, let the juice flow down the elbow, lick it maybe with uncharacteristic sensuality, as if Nigella’s soul is in you or it is a dreamy evening on the Rialto, not busy, not crowded, just dreamy, diffused yellow light and memories of the one who escaped from the prison climbing over these bridges;

You might lose the thread of this thought and catch hold of another while you press cloves of garlic, that of when the hair on the small of your back stood up in response to his fingers on your neck, when you barely held yourself together in a room full of people raring to get out to only him in the balcony and his eyes, when you were still excitable and foolish,

Now on the stove is the pan, now greased with olive oil and then crushed garlic fries, exuding the aroma you know only too well from the years of being free and new to cooking, from a house that was your own, from an evening that was busy and happy;

Now you pour the crushed tomatoes in the pan, languorously ladling almost as if dreaming this evening, inhabiting it in soft colours, hazy lights, lazy clocks, salt, pepper, oregano, rosemary, diced carrots, let the sauce simmer;

The mushrooms out of the fridge should now be washed and then cut, let this be the only sight, the only touch, not looking out of windows or holding on to false hopes, but this evening of sauces and sautéing, maybe add aubergines to it?

Maybe build the sauce, maybe the purple skin, maybe no flaws in a marriage, or no discontent, neither too much love nor too little, neither envy nor pride, but only lushness;

The mushrooms brown in olive oil and heat, then steady aubergines limp, the sauce is still watery, grate some mozzarella into it, stirring and sautéing and graceful in the kitchen today is her mind, dancer like, poem like, spring evening like;

By now the spaghetti should have softened in boiling water, if not yet, then in another four minutes, drained, thin white noodles, some salt and olive oil on them while wet, then sauce, warmth of dinners for two, glasses of wine and oft watched episodes of sitcoms.


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