“The pesto alla trapanese?” I say, and he nods, then I glance around at this small, modern space, nothing but trays of nibbles ready to go out when the bar opens. “I guess they don’t need the kitchen after breakfast.”
“Yep. Antonia’s always very happy to lend a hand, for some reason.”
For some reason. I roll my eyes internally.I’m sure she is happy to help you out, Leo.
Leo leans on the counter and slides forward the first dish.
“This one is the straight-up version you probably had today. Almonds, tomato, garlic, basil, pecorino, and cherry tomatoes. Egg pasta.”
He pushes bowl number two toward me. “This one, I’ve used a little mint, and something else surprising—see if you can guess.
“Here we have a version with red prawns stirred through, left slightly raw. An homage to the raw red prawns they love here. I tried a version of this in this little place in Trapani. I’ve left the almonds a little more coarsely ground. For crunch.”
I stare at him, a little speechless, as he pushes forward the fourth bowl.
“And this one, forgive me, but I’ve swapped out the almonds for pistachios. It’s the other traditional island pesto: pasta al pesto di pistacchi. And I made these cute little pasta worms. Busiate, they’re called.” He flips the tea towel he’s been holding over his shoulder.
“Pistachios?”
“Well, I figured that if you liked the almond one, you’d love this one. Personally, I think there’s more going on with pistachios in Sicily.”
“I... um.” I look between the bowls and feel impressed.
“I resisted the urge to create a prison out of Parmesan cheese for dish number one,” he says, grinning.
I shoot him a look. “You did all this in four hours?”
“Less. I had to buy everything first,” he says, folding his arms triumphantly.
Oh boy, if I wasn’t so utterly amazed, I’d want to smack that smug look off his face.
I take a moment, picking up the fork from the first dish.This is what you do. You know good food. Taste the dishes and then give feedback.This is your lane.
I twist my fork around in dish number one and take a bite. It’s creamy, but... I take my time to allow the layers of flavor to come through. Leo slides me a glass of water, which I take a large gulp of, before moving on to do the same with dishes two, three, and four. I watch Leo get increasingly more fidgety as I move slowly, going back and forth, considering tastes.
Then I place the fork down on the stainless-steel surface. Okay, Leo Ricci can cook. I mean, these are allso good, I’m a little taken aback.
“Well?” Leo says. “Which one shall we go for?”
I clear my throat and decide I can only answer honestly. “They’re all great.Delicious.”
“But?” he says warily.
I squeeze my lips together and take a breath.
“Honestly, a little fussy,” I say, grimacing. “Compared to the dish I had today, which was rustic and simple.”
“Fussy?”
“Yes. Number one is so wonderfully creamy, but you roasted the almonds, right? They should be blanched, I think. It’s too overpowering. And can I taste seaweed in there?”
Leo nods sheepishly. “You can use any store-bought kind,” he says, quickly.
“Number two, I can’t really taste the mint, and I think you’ve added fennel? It doesn’t work in my opinion.The third, with the prawns? It’s nice, but fiddly, and I’m not sure about a raw prawn dish. Can we skin and devein them, and cook them through? And number four is good. You’re right, the pistachio is an improvement on the others, but it doesn’t contain almonds.”
Leo looks instantly deflated.
“They’re alldelicious,” I say, reaching for the glass of water and glugging it down. I don’t want to eat any more pesto today. I feel a little queasy. “I’m just giving you the hard feedback. We’re professionals, no?”
