spoon down on the counter. “Can you put a colander in your sink and pour the package of peas in it?”
“Seriously? You’re not going to cook the peas?” I ask.
“Yes, seriously, they’ll cook in the pasta.”
I do as he asks, emptying the frozen peas in the colander. After a few minutes, Ben grabs the handle to the pot and pours the tortellini in the colander, the hot water draining out the little holes. Once it’s all drained, he returns the tortellini and pea mixture back into the pot and adds butter.
“Can you pass the cheese please,” he asks.
I hand over the container of grated parmesan and he sprinkles some in, never measuring.
“Done.”
“That’s it?” I frown.
“That’s it. It’s a simple dish. Two plates, please?”
I take two plates out of the cabinet and hand them to Ben. He spoons a hefty helping of the tortellini with peas on each plate.
“Sir, would you like to dine in the sophisticated ambience of the formal dining area,” I ask in my best English accent, tilting my head toward the tiny table for two cluttered with mail in our kitchen. “Or would you prefer the pedestrian casual seating on the floor and use the coffee table in the parlor?” I ask, tilting my head the other way.
“Well Madame… Why don’t we relax? I don’t mind sitting on the floor.”
“Would you like some wine. I think I have a bottle of Chianti hidden somewhere?”
“Hidden?” he asks, amused.
“Yeah, Allie’s friends will drink anything they see when they’re here. I have a hidden stash.”
“I see,” he laughs. “Sure, Chianti sounds good.”
I bend down and search toward the back of the cabinet that holds our pots and find the hidden bottle of wine. The bottle is full of dust. At least, the wine is clean . I take it out of the cabinet and quickly dust it off with my hands before Ben sees it. I take a corkscrew and pop the cork, pouring two glasses of Chianti.
“Shall we…” I ask, pointing my chin toward the living room.
We walk over to the coffee table. “Where should I put these?” he asks, pointing to the mess in front of him.
Shit, he found my stash of gossip magazines spread out all over the coffee table. It’s not like they’re hard to miss. I can’t let him know that his editor is seriously addicted to this crap. It’ll ruin any credibility I have. Well, what little credibility a mostly naked editor can have.
“Oh, Allie leaves those ridiculous rags everywhere. I’ll take them.” I gather up the pile of magazines and move them over to the small table in the kitchen area.
Ben places our plates down. We sit with our legs stretched out under the table.
“Would you like to turn on the television?” I ask.
“Sure, if you want.”
The remote for most people is usually a hassle to find, but Allie and I have a system. We figure since it always ends up in-between the couch cushions eventually, we might as well just keep it there. The only organization in this entire apartment is based on the laws of disorganization. Whatever works, right? I grab the remote and turn on the TV.
Normally, I’d watch one of my cable shows about clothes I can’t afford, bitchy brides, or just horrible people in general but I don’t want Ben to know about my vices, not yet anyway. I hand Ben the remote and he puts on a cable Sports Channel talk show.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Sure.” If you want to bore me to death.
We dig into our tortellini. It’s surprisingly tasty. How can this be? Four ingredients… fast and delicious?
“This is really good,” I say appreciatively.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am. It was such a simple dish to make. I didn’t expect it to taste this good.”
“Things don’t need to be complicated to be good,” he explains.
I don’t think he’s talking tortellini. I guess this is Ben’s mantra.
“I suppose you’re right. Thank you for making dinner.”
“Purely selfish. You’ll need your energy for what I have in mind for
“Seriously? You’re not going to cook the peas?” I ask.
“Yes, seriously, they’ll cook in the pasta.”
I do as he asks, emptying the frozen peas in the colander. After a few minutes, Ben grabs the handle to the pot and pours the tortellini in the colander, the hot water draining out the little holes. Once it’s all drained, he returns the tortellini and pea mixture back into the pot and adds butter.
“Can you pass the cheese please,” he asks.
I hand over the container of grated parmesan and he sprinkles some in, never measuring.
“Done.”
“That’s it?” I frown.
“That’s it. It’s a simple dish. Two plates, please?”
I take two plates out of the cabinet and hand them to Ben. He spoons a hefty helping of the tortellini with peas on each plate.
“Sir, would you like to dine in the sophisticated ambience of the formal dining area,” I ask in my best English accent, tilting my head toward the tiny table for two cluttered with mail in our kitchen. “Or would you prefer the pedestrian casual seating on the floor and use the coffee table in the parlor?” I ask, tilting my head the other way.
“Well Madame… Why don’t we relax? I don’t mind sitting on the floor.”
“Would you like some wine. I think I have a bottle of Chianti hidden somewhere?”
“Hidden?” he asks, amused.
“Yeah, Allie’s friends will drink anything they see when they’re here. I have a hidden stash.”
“I see,” he laughs. “Sure, Chianti sounds good.”
I bend down and search toward the back of the cabinet that holds our pots and find the hidden bottle of wine. The bottle is full of dust. At least, the wine is clean . I take it out of the cabinet and quickly dust it off with my hands before Ben sees it. I take a corkscrew and pop the cork, pouring two glasses of Chianti.
“Shall we…” I ask, pointing my chin toward the living room.
We walk over to the coffee table. “Where should I put these?” he asks, pointing to the mess in front of him.
Shit, he found my stash of gossip magazines spread out all over the coffee table. It’s not like they’re hard to miss. I can’t let him know that his editor is seriously addicted to this crap. It’ll ruin any credibility I have. Well, what little credibility a mostly naked editor can have.
“Oh, Allie leaves those ridiculous rags everywhere. I’ll take them.” I gather up the pile of magazines and move them over to the small table in the kitchen area.
Ben places our plates down. We sit with our legs stretched out under the table.
“Would you like to turn on the television?” I ask.
“Sure, if you want.”
The remote for most people is usually a hassle to find, but Allie and I have a system. We figure since it always ends up in-between the couch cushions eventually, we might as well just keep it there. The only organization in this entire apartment is based on the laws of disorganization. Whatever works, right? I grab the remote and turn on the TV.
Normally, I’d watch one of my cable shows about clothes I can’t afford, bitchy brides, or just horrible people in general but I don’t want Ben to know about my vices, not yet anyway. I hand Ben the remote and he puts on a cable Sports Channel talk show.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Sure.” If you want to bore me to death.
We dig into our tortellini. It’s surprisingly tasty. How can this be? Four ingredients… fast and delicious?
“This is really good,” I say appreciatively.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am. It was such a simple dish to make. I didn’t expect it to taste this good.”
“Things don’t need to be complicated to be good,” he explains.
I don’t think he’s talking tortellini. I guess this is Ben’s mantra.
“I suppose you’re right. Thank you for making dinner.”
“Purely selfish. You’ll need your energy for what I have in mind for
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