I’m beginning to worry that Foodie and the Beast is turning into Foodie and the Beast plus Nick. It’s just that our Monday nights together guarantee a home-cooked meal, which is certainly something to write home about. Last Monday I came home from work to discover Nick and the Beast in the bedroom making music. That’s not a euphemism for love-making. They were playing guitars and there was a dirty accordion and a clarinet on the clean bed. Instead of yelling, I went downstairs and got a pot of water boiling for our pasta dinner. I also enjoyed the peace and quiet, until Nick and the Beast came downstairs to “help” with dinner.
Beast: What are we having?
Foodie: Some of that nut sauce I made on the weekend.
Beast: Oh good!
I had the idea to make this nut sauce after recalling a meal we enjoyed in Piemonte of fresh pasta tossed with some sort of nut sauce–probably hazelnuts since Piemonte is the land of nocciole. But maybe it was walnuts, or noce. I can’t remember asking, or caring: I just remember how perfectly simple and satisfying the pasta with the mystery nut sauce was. I found a recipe in a cookbook called, The Food of Italy (Whitecap Books) for walnut sauce. It was quite simple to do, if you have a food processor, and it provided enough sauce for about four dinners.
Beast: Here, let me help.
For some inexplicable reason, whenever the Beast sees me stirring something he decides it looks like it might be fun and he offers, gallantly, to take over. After 4 to 5 seconds of labour, he realizes that the task at hand is not as much fun as it appeared to be and I’m handed back my spoon.
Because we had two movies to watch, Gomorra and The Bicycle Thief (an especially Italian double-bill), we decided to eat dinner in front of the TV. I brought out two big bowls–one filled with pasta and the other with Caesar salad–to the coffee table.
We all had seconds. The Beast had thirds. The first movie, Gomorra–a peek into Napoli’s underworld–was terribly dark, hopeless, depressing and disgusting. The Bicycle Thief was all those things, minus the disgusting part, and I cried a lot. Speaking of disgust, when I excused myself to grab dessert and use the washroom, albeit not necessarily in that order, I found a little installation left for me behind the sink’s faucets:
Yes, that is a book on Roman sculpture. And yes, Nick Edwards put it there to surprise me. And yes, he grabbed some old stamps he found in our washroom and stacked them in order to cover the unmentionables of Trebonianus Gallus:
At least there were itty bitty little cupcakes that I picked up from Sobey’s for $3 to eat.