The Sexy Spoon is staging a comeback! I’m sorry, dear readers, that I have been so negligent. But as I slowly return to the land of the living, shrugging off the fetters of inorganic chemistry, the Sexy Spoon will also return in full glory. To start, I am delighted to again have a guest post by our intrepid Hong Kong contributor Heather. This recipe, and the sultry story of heartbreak and healing that accompanies it, are to be savored.
“Heather, we are going out. Get dressed,” commanded Deb’s voice through my cell phone. I detached myself from the couch in my sublet where I had been hiding out for the better part of two weeks after a nasty breakup. I knew, theoretically, that going to a party was a good idea, but I sure as hell didn’t feel like getting up.
Two hours later, I’m small-talking away in a corner of a sweet duplex in the East Village, filled with Deb’s grad student friends. I still feel a bit dazed, and tune in and out of conversation, but I keep encouraging myself with those behavior therapy maxims: Pretend like you are fine, and you will be fine! I’m dragged back into the moment when A., the curly-haired host, starts getting excited about my recent move to Carroll Gardens. “My favorite restaurant in New York is in Carroll Gardens. Banania. Do you know it?”
Of course I do. It’s two blocks from my house and serves outrageously good cinnamon-raisin French toast on Sundays. We trade neighborhood tales, and I’m impressed by his knowledge of Brooklyn (to most Manhattan-ites, Brooklyn might as well be Kentucky) and his good taste in wine. An hour later, when I go over to say goodbye and thanks for a lovely night, he asks if he can take me to dinner at Banania the next weekend.
Dinner is wonderful. Great food, great wine, sexy lighting. The conversation is easy and he’s got that look in his eyes, the one that says, “I’m so excited to be sitting across the table from you right now.” I’m charmed when he walks me home, and swept away when he kisses me at the gate. He calls the next morning and says he wants to see me again. Soon. All week I feel triumphant. The worst is over. I am healed and I have moved on.
Next Friday, we decide to cook. I had spent the previous summer in Puglia, in southern Italy, and was eager to try making linguini with mussels and clams, which I had learned from my wonderful host mother, Anna. I showed up with a bottle of Salice Salentino, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil and flat leaf parsley. He brought the seafood.
What is more sensuous than preparing food with someone? For the first half hour, we danced around each other in the kitchen, wine glasses in hand, laughing as we squirted tomato juice on the counter, pretending not to notice how close our bodies were when he reached around me for the olive oil. I told stories about my summer to keep my nervousness at bay. I described how Anna and I would drive down to the docks in the morning and buy mussels right off the boats and take them home in their brine to eat for lunch that day, or how buying meat, cheese or foccacia all required trips to different nearby towns that specialized in such things.
At one point, mid-cooking, he turned very suddenly and kissed me. Moments later, I was sitting on his kitchen counter, his hands at my hips, my hands still full of flat-leaf parsley, being kissed with that particular sense of wonder and energy that only happens at the very beginning of things. We did manage to finish cooking, and he practically swooned over the pasta. It was delicious. It tasted like the sea and fresh herbs and the wine had a tint of sunburn that brought us both back to the summer that was quickly fading from late September New York skies. Would I stay the night?
Panic swam up through the salty-sweet taste in my mouth. No. No. I can’t. Not yet. Not ready. Oh God. I stood up from the table and started clearing the dishes, muttering lame excuses all the way to the sink. Have to get up early tomorrow. Really long week. So nice to see you again. A quick kiss and I was gone.
He called the next day. I was deep into avoidance mode and ignored the call. He called again. He was open and affectionate and just wanted to spend time with me. But I had to face the dread that had settled into the pit of my stomach. I could go through the motions (Pretend you are fine, and you will be fine!) but I wasn’t ready.
So here’s my advice: don’t break out the seafood until you know you’re serious.
Anna’s Linguini with Mussels and Clams
(This is the recipe as I learned it standing in Anna’s kitchen; don’t expect cookbook exactness!)
DeCecco linguini (wrap your thumb and index finger around the linguini—that’s about one serving size, add or subtract according to your appetite and the number of people)
Clams and mussels—you can add shrimp or squid here too. If you can get them in brine, reserve the brine. If not, take half a cup of the pasta cooking water and add salt until it tastes like the ocean.
Garlic, 4 or so sizable cloves, crushed
Bunch fresh basil
Bunch fresh parsley
Box of cherry tomatoes, ripe (you’ll use half to 2/3rds of the box)
Crushed red pepper to taste
Crusty bread for sopping up the sauce
Pasta:
Put the biggest pot you have to boil with a healthy pinch of salt and glug of olive oil added to the water. Follow the cooking time on the packet.
Sauce:
Prep:
De-seed the tomatoes by making a slit in the center of the tomato that goes halfway through and squeezing the seeds into a juice glass. Separate the basil and parsley leaves from the stems. Keep the leaves whole. Rinse the mussels and clams a couple times in fresh water to get rid of any grit.
In a medium saucepan, coat the bottom with good-quality olive oil until the oil is about a quarter inch thick. Put on medium-high heat.
Crush the garlic with the flat side of your knife and toss it into the saucepan. Be careful not to burn the garlic, just cook it for a minute or so until it becomes fragrant and softens a bit. Encourage the pieces of crushed garlic to separate by spreading them around with a wooden spoon. Add a quarter teaspoon or so of crushed red pepper and cook for another minute. Stir in the tomatoes and let them soften but if the skins start to separate from the meat, move on to the next step ASAP. Toss in at least a handful of basil. Smell. Mmmm.
Add the seafood and the half cup of brine. Give it all a good stir (or, as Anna used to say, “Sbatutta! Sbatutta!”), make sure it’s bubbling nicely, and then put the cover on. Steam for just a few minutes, until the clams and mussels open. Pick out any that haven’t opened. Finally, pour the drained linguini into the pot and toss to your heart’s content. Adjust the seasoning. Serve in a shallow bowl. Garnish with parsley.
