“That’s not a compliment.”
“It is from me,” I reply.
She looks amused, but she looks back at the board and continues.
I watch while I take the shrimp out and set them on paper towels, then pat them dry.
“Why are you doing that?” she asks.
“Because wet shrimp don’t sear,” I say. “They steam. Dry equals browning. Browning equals flavor.”
By the time she’s done cutting the rest of the garlic, the water is boiling.
“Pasta,” I say. “In. And stir so it doesn’t stick.”
She dumps it in and stirs.
“Timer,” I tell her. “We cook it al dente.”
She glances at the box. “It saysten minutes.”
“We start tasting at eight,” I say.
She blinks. “Tasting?”
“Yes,” I say. “Food isn’t an exact science, Elsa.”
I quickly season the shrimp with salt, pepper, and a pinch of red pepper flakes. I pull the broccolini out and show them to her.
“I’m going to cook these in two parts,” I tell her. “First, I’ll blanch them in the pasta water, then I’ll sear them fast in a pan. But that’ll come later. First…”
I set a pan on the stove. “Oil.”
I pour a generous amount and watch it pool, shimmering.
While it’s warming, I cut the ends of the broccolini off, then turn back to Elsa.
“Now, the garlic goes in before the oil gets hot,” I say. “We’re infusing. Not burning.”
She slides the sliced garlic into the oil. It starts to sizzle gently.
“Now you watch,” I tell her. “The moment it turns golden, we’re done. If it goes brown, you start over.”
Her mouth tightens. “That’s dramatic.”
“Garlic is very dramatic, yes,” I say. “But she’s delicious, so she’s allowed to be.”
She laughs and looks atme.
“She?”
“Oh yes,” I say. “The most delectable things are always ‘she’.”
Her cheeks redden, and she quickly looks back at the pan.
Silence sits heavily between us, nearly palpable. The garlic turns golden, saving us both.
I force my focus to the pan because if I don’t, I’m going to do something stupid.
