“You do know that your sister is a photographer, right?” I teased him.
“Exactly,” he responded. “And you just proved my point. In fact, she’ll probably get sick of him first. She changes boyfriends like she changes outfits. My little sister’s got game.”
We laughed together, and I felt the knot in my chest ease.
From the kitchen, Gretna sang out, “This dinner is about to change your life!”
My mouth watered. Whatever she’d been working on for the past few hours, it smelled amazing. The entire condo had slowly filled with the scent of rich tomato sauce made with fresh herbs, crushed garlic, a pastry baking in the oven, and a plethora of other delights.
“I don’t know what Gretna’s been up to in there,” Stefan said, “but I’m done waiting to find out. I’ll get the plates and utensils, you grab the wine and the glasses.”
I nodded and we split off to get the table set in record time. After we sat down—on the edge of our seats—Gretna carefully brought in the heavy platter. I couldn’t help but gasp.
“Is that a…” Stefan’s voice trailed off, his brow creasing.
At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at. I had expected one of her expertly homemade ravioli or gnocchi dishes. Instead, the thing she was carrying into the dining room looked more like a huge pot pie. It had a smooth, doom-shaped shell and was the size of a basketball. It smelled like a dream, but the visual gave no indication of what was inside.
“What is it?” I had to ask.
“It’s called atimpano,” she told me proudly, setting it in the center of the table.
“Timpano…that sounds so familiar…” I said.
“It’s an assembly of pasta with onions and cheeses and sausages and meatballs,” Gretna explained. “But it’s all baked in a shell of pasta. It’s everything good about Italian food.”
As Gretna said goodnight and headed out the door, leaving me and Stefan to our dinner, I was momentarily distracted by the sight of my husband shrugging out of his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. I liked that I was one of the few people that saw him this way—tie loosened, top button undone, forearms exposed. Something about it was intimate, unguarded. I also couldn’t help relishing the fact that he looked very, very sexy when he took off his clothes.
And then, right as he cut into the drum-like pastry and the scent of Italian spices and sausage rose up into the air, it hit me. “Oh my god!Timpano! It’s the centerpiece ofBig Night!”
Stefan’s face lit up with recognition, and his cutting hand froze. “Stanley Tucci? Mid-90s movie? Two brothers trying to save their failing restaurant?”
“Yes!” I crowed. “The chef brother was Tony Shalhoub! That dinner party scene is such a revelation. Course after course, and these people are practically swooning with every bite.”
“You feel like you’re actually sitting at the table with them.” Nodding, he leaned forward in his chair. “And then the scene with them eating their eggs the morning after—that stabbed me right in the heart.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “It’s pretty much the best food movie of all time.”
“It’s definitely one of the greats,” Stefan agreed. Then he looked at me appraisingly. “I’ve never met anyone else who appreciates that movie as much as I do. It’s so underrated.”
I shrugged, pleased and surprised that we had this semi-obscure movie love in common.
Stefan cut two slices of the dish and plated them for us. After pouring a glass of wine for each of us, we took our first bites.
“Mmm,” I practically moaned. “This must be as good as the one in the movie.”
“‘To eat good food is to be close to God,’” he said in an Italian accent, holding up his hand, fingers pressed together.
“I love that quote,” I said, before loading up my fork with another heavenly bite.
“Words of wisdom,” Stefan said.
As I chewed, I tried to remember some of my other favorite lines. It had been years since I saw it last, but I’d watched it many times. It was one of my go-to comfort movies.
“Sometimes spaghetti likes to be alone,” I said, giving my best Stanley Tucci impression and dissolving into giggles.
“Bite your teeth into the ass of life!” Stefan threw in, and then we were both laughing. “What a great movie.”
“And this is the star of the show,” I said, pointing my fork at the serving dish. “I’ve never had a timpano before, but I always wondered if it would be as good as it looked in the movie.”
