Methodically, she assembled all of the ingredients that she would need. She placed them on the counter neatly and then organized all of her utensils. Next she got out her stainless steel pasta machine and began to make dough. Her mother had taken her to a tiny little restaurant in Bologna where she had the most extraordinary lasagna imaginable. She was terribly pleased to find the recipe in an Italian cookbook and it was now the only kind of lasagna she would eat. Jamie remembered that they had used green noodles so she decided that she must also.
She began to clean the fresh spinach, and when she was finished she wilted it quickly. She took the wilted spinach and gently dried it as much as possible with a thin kitchen towel. After chopping it coarsely she set it aside.
Next she went to a small dedicated baking counter in the corner of the kitchen. The counter was made of a dark green marble and was set 4 inches lower than the rest of the counters. She mounded 1 1/2 cups of flour and scooped out a hollow in the center of it. She broke two eggs into the hollow and added the chopped spinach. She beat the eggs with a fork, as though making an omelet, for about a minute. She began to draw some of the flour over the eggs, just a little at a time, until the eggs were no longer runny. Discarding the fork she began to work the mass with her hands. She worked the dough until the ingredients felt fully integrated. After washing her hands again, she tested it by pressing her thumb firmly into the center of the mass. After her thumb came out clean, she put the dough aside and cleaned the work surface.
Now came her favorite part. Sprinkling a little flour on the marble she began to knead the dough. She pushed the mass forward with the palm of her right hand, then she folded it in half, gave it a half turn and repeated. She continued in this fashion, always turning in the same direction. After about 8 minutes of steady work the dough felt as smooth and supple as a babies' bottom.
Satisfied that the dough was perfect she clamped the heavy pasta machine to another part of the counter. After adjusting the rollers to their full width she inserted the handle. Then she cut the dough into 6 roughly equal parts. She rolled each little piece through the rollers, one piece at a time until all six had been slightly flattened. She then ran each strip through another two times, folding each in thirds after each pass through the machine.
She had cleared all of the counters and spread kitchen towels on them in preparation and now she lay each flattened strip on a separate towel. She closed the rollers a notch and repeated the entire operation until the towels were covered with very long very thin strips of green dough.
Now came the hard part. She stuck each strip into a large pot of boiling water for mere seconds, then scooped it out and dropped it into a bowl of ice water. After several strips were in the ice bath she removed them one at a time and ran cold water over them. Then she delicately wrung them dry, treating them rather like fine lingerie. She lay each strip back onto its respective towel to dry.
Well that was a quick 2 hours, she thought as she looked at her watch. Ryan was coming over at 5 and she felt like she just had enough time to finish the lasagna and the desert and wrap a few little presents. But first she ate an apple and a few pieces of cheddar cheese, just as Dr. O'Flaherty had ordered.
She began to prepare a Béchamel sauce, slowly stirring the milk, butter and flour together until it was smooth and luxuriantly creamy. Ohhh, that looks perfect!
Now she was ready to assemble. She took out a large enameled cast iron lasagna pan and smeared the bottom with the Béchamel sauce. She lined the bottom of the pan with a single layer of green noodles, cutting them to fit, edge to edge with just a tiny overlap. She took the warmed Bolognese meat sauce that she had prepared on Wednesday and mixed it in with the béchamel She then spread this mixture in a thin layer over the first layer of noodles, sprinkling it with a bit of grated Reggiano Parmesan to complete the first layer. She repeated this process until she had 9 layers of pasta and sauce. She had just enough sauce left to spread a thin layer on the topmost noodles. She again sprinkled Parmesan on the top and added a few thin pats of butter at various strategic locations.
She stood back to look at her creation with satisfaction. Not bad for a WASP, she thought with pride.
Now comes the true test of my prowess, she thought. She put 6 egg yolks into the bowl of her Kitchen Aid mixer. She added 3/4 cup of granulated sugar and beat the yolks until they were a beautiful pale yellow and formed soft ribbons.
Next she put 2 cups of very fresh milk in a saucepan and added the peel of half of an orange. She heated the milk until it reached a slow simmer. She then added the hot milk to the eggs, running it through a fine strainer as she did so. She stopped periodically to run the mixer again, being careful to thoroughly beat the mixture together. Finally, she added a tablespoon of Grand Marnier, and stirred it well.
She put the whole mixture into a saucepan set on a medium flame and beat it with a whisk for a couple of minutes, making sure to not let it reach a boil. She took it off the heat and set it to chill in the refrigerator.
Her next task was to clean the enormous mess she had created. When she had done most of the dishes the custard was chilled. She put it into her electric ice cream maker to freeze and let the machine do all the work.
By now it was 4:45 and she knew Ryan would be on time. She flew around the house and assembled her wrapping paper, tape and scissors. The last little gift was just barely finished when the bell rang. As she dashed over to the door she quickly hid the small presents and ran her hands through her hair to order it.
She was greeted by a broadly smiling Ryan who leaned over to give her a hug. They had recently begun to hug each other when they hadn't seen each other for a few days. Jamie felt very comfortable with the increased intimacy, and found that she missed the contact on the rare occasions Ryan didn't offer it. She was a bit surprised today only because they had seen each other earlier at class.
"You certainly look happy," she told the beaming face.
"You are cooking, aren't you?" she asked logically.
"Yes, I most certainly am," she replied.
"Then I am most certainly happy," she stated with an even bigger grin. She leaned over again and gently brushed her thumb across Jamie's cheek a few times. Holding her hand up close to her eyes she nodded her head and thoughtfully said, "Flour."
"I get a little wild when I cook. God knows what's hiding in my hair!" God, one smile from her and I would cook like this every day. The world is lucky that she uses that smile for good, and not evil.
"It smells very good in here," Ryan stated as she twitched her nose reflectively. "I smell something sweet. Do I get dessert, too?"
"Yes, you get dessert, too. I don't believe in making a partial thank you dinner."
"Far be it from me to turn down a special meal, but you don't owe me any thanks, Jamie," she stated sincerely. "We're friends, and I take my friendships very seriously. You were really out of it on Tuesday and I felt responsible for you. I know you would do the same for me."
"Well, conceptually you are right, Ryan. But I was thinking about that night and I don't remember walking on my own volition at any time after that phone call."
"You walked to the car, but I had to carry you in."
"And did you not also carry me up that huge staircase?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, I had to. You were about to go out again and I couldn't leave you on that little sofa. I was afraid you would fall and hurt yourself. I thought your bed would protect you better."
"Okay, now let's switch roles. Where would we be if you had passed out that night?"
"Um, still lying on the floor of the building, I guess," she admitted with a twinkle in her eyes. "It would take two men and a strong boy to pick me up."
"My point exactly. My spirit would be willing, but my flesh is weak. So the bottom line is that I'm very thankful not only for your friendship, but your big muscles are awfully nice to have around too."
"So you're just replenishing all of the calories I expended, huh?
I guess that does seem fair," she grinned. "I will admit though, I wished we had the Range Rover that night."
"Why's that?" Jamie asked, a trifle confused.
"I had to power you up from a deep squat to get you out of the car. I'm gonna have to do some more work on my quads if I'm going to continue to pick you up off the floor," she teased as she slapped her ample thigh muscles.
"Maybe you shouldn't try to get my weight back up. It might be to your detriment."
"I think I would rather make sure you don't get that stressed out that badly again," she replied as she slipped her arm around Jamie, and they wandered into the kitchen together.
Ryan offered to help with the last of the dinner preparations. Jamie set her to work on setting the table and choosing some music. Ryan bustled around the large kitchen, finding out for herself where everything was kept. She was just about finished when Jamie asked," How do you feel about anchovies?"
"I feel very kindly toward them, so long as they lie still while they're being eaten," she replied with a laugh. She walked up behind Jamie and enthused, "Ooooh, Caesar salad, my favorite."
"Ryan, I swear that almost everything you eat is your favorite," she admonished her.
"Well it is," Ryan gamely defended herself. "I have tons of favorites, but what I choose to eat at any particular time becomes my favorite. Caesar salad is my favorite Italian style salad, particularly when served with anchovies and followed by lasagna."
Jamie gave her a narrowed glance as she asked, "How much time do you spend thinking about food?"
"A lot," she admitted. "Okay, a whole lot," she amended when she caught Jamie's dubious glance. "Food really is the highlight of most of my days. An hour or so before lunch I start thinking about what I will have. I do the same at dinner. It really gives me a great deal of pleasure."
"I guess the pressure is really on me to perform then, huh?" Jamie asked.
"Nope. Not at all. You get tons of points for the effort even if the execution isn't perfect. Where do you get your recipe for lasagna, anyway? Is it a family secret?"
"I come from a family of diners, not cooks. My mother could probably make a peanut butter sandwich, but I've never actually seen her do so," she admitted. "And come to think of it, I'm certain she would never eat peanut butter, so it really would be a lost exercise."
"Are you really being serious?" Ryan asked as she stopped in the middle of the kitchen and stared, absolutely dumbfounded.
"Completely," Jamie replied. "I have never eaten a meal that my mother prepared for me. Come to think of it, I wasn't even breast fed," she laughed.
"Not even tea and toast when you were sick?" Ryan asked.
"Nope. I had a nanny who took care of me when I was sick. My mother didn't really get involved in the day to day caretaker stuff."
"God, Jamie, I find that so hard to believe!" Ryan was truly shocked.
"Well, it's true. Our relationship has always been friendly and pleasant enough, but distant. She traveled and spent time on her hobbies, but child rearing wasn't really one of them," she admitted.
Friendly?? Pleasant?? What kind of words are those to use for your relationship with your mother?! "So how did you learn to cook?" Ryan asked, trying to change the depressing subject.
"We had a great cook, named Marta. She's still with us as a matter of fact. She's from Spain but she can cook anything. She does a lot of Northern Italian cuisine because that's my mother's favorite. But she can also do classical French and some great spicy Spanish dishes for my father and me."
"Did you just watch and learn?"
"No, she was a really good teacher. She knew I was interested and she spent a lot of time with me, teaching me the fundamentals. My mother found it odd that I wanted to spend my time chopping vegetables into julienne, but she didn't mind much as long as I was entertained. Actually, Marta was one of the best teachers I ever had. She didn't have any children and we spent a ton of time together just talking and hanging out."
Ryan was enormously saddened to hear her friend speak of this emotionless upbringing. The thought of young Jamie having to get her parenting from the hired help was just too much to consider. She tried to change the subject again. "So, you know my favorite food, what's yours?"
Jamie turned thoughtful as she finished tossing the Caesar salad. "I think my favorite is a good steak and pomes frites from a French bistro. I have had some extraordinary meals at Chez Panisse," she named a local Berkeley institution. "Have you been there?"
"No, but Conor has. He said he liked it, but the portions weren't big enough. Not that that is surprising!" she laughed.
"I think we are ready to eat. Hungry?" she asked needlessly.
"I was hungry when I got here. But smelling that lasagna cook has put me into a whole new classification of hunger. It's beyond famished...bordering on starvation, I believe."
"Then have a seat and get ready. I'll take the lasagna out so it can cool for a minute." She went to the oven and pulled out the pan, using hot pads. Ryan did not sit down as instructed, but trotted right behind Jamie, looking over her shoulder, mouth watering.
"God, Ryan, you look like a hungry wolf with a wounded animal in its sights," she said of Ryan's intense gaze.
"That's exactly how I feel at the moment," she replied, never taking her eyes from their bubbling target. "I think I'm willing to risk the burns to my mouth to eat that right now," she threatened as she leaned over her prey.
But Jamie grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her firmly around to face the kitchen table. She gave her a little push and said firmly, "Sit. Now."
Ryan complied, grumbling the whole time. "Would a Caesar salad placate you for a few minutes?" Jamie asked, taking pity on the poor creature.
"I suppose," she moaned as she let out an aggrieved sigh.
Jamie filled two salad bowls and deposited them on the table. Ryan dug in and in moments her face became a study of various levels of pleasure. She started at mere happiness and by the fourth bite had progressed to ecstasy. "My God, this is good," she moaned from her state of bliss. "You have ruined me for life, Jamie. All other Caesar salads will be but pale imitations. I'll never be satisfied with another!"
"Then you'll just have to come here when you need a fix," Jamie replied, terribly pleased at the effusive compliments.
Ryan mopped up every bit of dressing with a piece of crunchy Italian bread. "Is it considered rude to lick the salad bowl?" she asked.
"There is just a tiny bit left, but I don't want you to be too full for your entrée," Jamie warned.
"My physiology is just like a cow," Ryan informed her. "I have six stomachs, all in different stages of digestion. I'll just put the entree in another stomach." She was already on her feet, moving toward the salad bowl. As she passed the cooling lasagna, she leaned down and gave it a hearty sniff. "You're next," she growled.
Jamie laughed heartily at her antics. Ryan was so full of life, so immersed in the pleasure of whatever she was involved in that it was impossible not to enjoy being with her. Jamie thought of all the women that Ryan had been with and felt a little sorry for them. She knew how much they must crave further contact, and how few of them got that wish. She considered herself very lucky to be able to be close to Ryan and receive so much of her time.
Ryan was polishing off the remnants of the salad right from the serving bowl. She used more bread to capture every bit of dressing and every tiny green leaf that tried in vain to escape.
"I don't think I have ever met anyone who enjoys food as much as you do. You just seem so immersed in the whole experience. It's fun to watch!"
Ryan's face grew serious. "Honestly, that's my whole philosophy of life, Jamie. I try to be fully involved in whatever I'm doing. The simplest task is made beautiful if I'm fully in it. When I eat I try to feel it with every sense. I try to really taste and smell the food. That's why I love to eat with my hands. I love the feel and the texture of food. I love to look at food before I eat it. I love the colors and variety of text
ures. I even really enjoyed the crunch the croutons in the salad made." She grinned up at Jamie from a slightly embarrassed smile. "I know that sounds kinda nutty, but that's how I approach life."
"That is the least nutty thing I've ever heard," Jamie replied. "You're really teaching me a lot about savoring life, Ryan, and I want you to know how grateful I am for that," she said simply.
"I didn't realize that Jamie, but I'm glad it's helpful for you. I made up my mind when I was a teenager that I wasn't going to let life pass me by. I knew that every day we have is a gift and I intend to make the most of those gifts."
"Well, speaking of gifts," Jamie said as she rose and walked to the counter, "Happy Birthday, Ryan." She lit the candle that she had placed in the lasagna and carried the large pan to the table. She leaned over her shoulder and gave her a small kiss on her flushed cheek.
Ryan was truly stunned. "How did you know?" she asked delightedly. "I'm sure I didn't tell."
"No you didn't, you big dope. And I'm a little miffed I had to find out from Conor."
"You know, you're right Jamie. I should have told you. I usually spend the day with my family and sometimes I forget to include other people. I kind of hate to have a big deal made out of it, but I should have included you. I'm really glad that Conor told you."
Jamie served up a steaming plate of the lasagna and Ryan took a hearty bite. She was silent as she closed her eyes, deep in concentration. Jamie could just imagine each of her senses kicking in, feeling and tasting and smelling the delectable bite.
"If I didn't believe in God before today, I would now. This," she waved another forkful of the dish at Jamie, "is a clear sign that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
"I'm so glad I could make you something that you enjoy so much," Jamie replied as she tried to control her beaming smile.
"I have eaten lasagna at least 200 times in my life. I order it every time it's on the menu. But I can truly say, I've never tasted lasagna before today."
Awakenings - SF1 Page 27
