“Please, don’t call me that. I’m just Hunter.”
“Okay,” Tyler said. “Hunter, you should stay for dinner.”
“No, I couldn’t impose,” Hunter said.
“You should stay,” I said, surprising myself. “As long as you don’t mind take-out. I don’t have much in the fridge.”
One of Hunter’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Challenge accepted. Show me what you’ve got in your pantry and I’ll make us dinner.”
“Oh, that’s a fun game,” Tyler said, sounding delighted. “Let’s do it.”
I lifted my hands in surrender. “I can’t wait to see your face when you realize how unlikely it is you’ll find anything to make in my kitchen.”
“Show me the way,” Hunter said. “And prepare to be dazzled.”
Hunter stoodin front of my open refrigerator, his gaze sweeping the shelves. “Okay now, this is going to be too easy.” He pulled out the egg container, which I was glad to see had been filled recently. Thanks to Tyler.
“Eggs.” Hunter set them on the counter. “And you’ve got parmesan.” He held up the block, looking triumphant. “And, as luck would have it, you have pancetta.”
“We do?” I asked.
“Yeah, I got it last week,” Tyler said.
“Why?” I asked.
“For sandwiches. Vance told me about this baguette with butter and pancetta he used to get in Paris,” Tyler said. “I was going to make that for us but we went out to dinner last night.”
“It would make a great sandwich,” Hunter said. “But I’m going to make carbonara. You have pasta, I hope?”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah. We have a ton of that. It’s a go-to on school nights. That and bottled sauce we get from Costco.”
“I sound like the worst mother right now,” I said, laughing.
“You’re creating worlds, Mom. No time for cooking.” Tyler headed into the pantry.
“Thanks, honey.” Shaking my head, I went to the wine rack to open something. Best to lean into my skills.
Tyler returned with a package of linguini. “Will this work?”
“Perfect.” Hunter found the butter and asked if we had garlic, which Tyler grabbed out of a bowl near the cooktop.
“What about cream, though?” Tyler asked. “I don’t think we have enough.”
Hunter turned to face us, his hands tented under his chin. “Now, this may come as a shock to you, but the original carbonara isnotmade with cream.”
Tyler’s face lit up. “Really? I never knew that.”
I popped the cork out of a bottle of pinot and poured two glasses, setting one on the counter next to Hunter.
Hunter thanked me and then said, “Authentic Roman carbonara uses no cream whatsoever. The sauce is made entirely from eggs, Pecorino Romano or Parmesan, plenty of black pepper, and a splash of starchy pasta water to emulsify everything into a silky coating. The heat from the pasta cooks the eggs just enough without scrambling them. People add cream as a shortcut. But we’re not doing that.”
“I never knew there was anything but the cream version,” Tyler said.
“Yeah, it’s a widespread American and northern European adaptation. Perfectly tasty but it’s not carbonara the way a serious cook makes it.”
“Cool. Will you teach me?” Tyler asked.
“Absolutely. Margaret showed me this years ago. It’s actually pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”
