Yes, what you see in the featured image of this blog post is the fresh hand made tortellini that Dave and I created one of the first weekends home alone in our own kitchen. What you see is a dream come true for us.
One of the reasons we fell in love with this 106-year-old farm house? The large kitchen with a beautiful wood expandable island told me immediately we could finally get back to making our own stuffed pasta, with elbow room and plenty of surface space.
Pasta Sundays feel like a cooperative zen between the two of us. We smile. We share. We’re quiet with a heart-deep content so warm it glows like sunshine. I mix up and knead the dough. Dave hand selects the fresh herbs and mixes up the cheese filling. I roll out and cut the dough. Dave fills and folds. Right, you foodies might notice his technique ignores that extra fold. Dave prefers his this way, and I think they look like beautiful round-bellied roses.
In a tiny galley kitchen in these lovely bungalow houses so popular in our isthmus neighborhood, this event requires two rooms and therefore an unromantic disconnect; I in the kitchen carefully rolling and cutting the pasta short in order to get it the right thinness on a short counter top, Dave in the dining room with stack-able drying racks. Not anymore.
In our new kitchen we face each other and immediately slip into our rhythm, our soft slow groove, with aromatic rosemary, oregano, lemon thyme, and garlic sauntering about with the June cross breeze. I could recommend this for relationship therapy should anyone wonder what to do to freshen up something gone stale. But let’s face it. We fall into a unique category of couples who actually bond more in the kitchen, fall more in love with each meal we cooperatively create together.
I remember the first time we cooked together in a little kitchen above the marina Dave managed, way back in those good old days of summer dating and youthful bodies that couldn’t stay clothed or out of the bay. We made chicken fajitas. It needed something, what was it? The trust begins. Two minds tasting and working together, analyzing and cranking the brain wheels. I finally suggested cumin. He added the cumin with no hesitation, stirred, tasted, and looked at me like I was a magic kitchen goddess. I melted. It seems silly now, but if I painted the energy between us it would be warm watercolors, swirling and curling like the steam off a hot stock pot of homemade chicken broth. And here we are today, 15 years later, still steaming up the kitchen. Now the right kitchen.
Yes, this kitchen means more than the place where meals are made. This kitchen makes memories. This kitchen strengthens our marriage with each hand-rolled tortellini, Chardonnay stewed chicken, rosemary spanked cassoulet, potato leek soup, bacon brie bow tie pasta bowl, and yes, cumin-enhanced cast iron skillet fajitas.
Share your favorite kitchen memory, smell, or story with me, and I’ll share our tortellini recipe. In fact, I’ll share a favorite recipe with every good comment left on this post. After all, food always tastes better shared.
With all my kitchen goddess love,