…one night in July when I thought enough was enough
Finally getting back into the swing of all things Feasting Hearts, I am picking up the series around the tale of how my husband became my husband. This second piece follows up from that first chance encounter at a brunch spot in Beirut. And like the first story of our tale, it includes hints of fond romanticism over a time and place in my life, as much as it is of my growing feelings for a friend.
The following is a tale of friendship, flirtation and pistachio pesto -
Sampling of pesto di pistacchio
Stefano and I were the first to arrive for brunch at the Happy Prince, a rare occasion where I have ever found Stefano to be early. After that day, a new group of friends began to effortlessly form in the kind of way you never plan for, but relish when it somehow lands on your new doorstep. Weekends would circle around Friday night dinner of Lebanese mezze or sushi, followed by sipping strong cocktails on the street outside the bar. Saturday nights were often a repeat of Friday, usually after a day at the seaside soaking in the sun, sipping cold Al Mazza beers, and snacking on lemon and salt-soaked carrots. And Sunday, well Sunday always meant brunch at the Happy Prince. No matter what shenanigans took place the night before, late mornings were always for Happy Prince. So much so that the kind waitstaff would keep the long table at the front window for us, a very ‘where everybody knows your name’ sort of vibe (if you know you know). Eggs benedict, Monte Cristos (though not for me), and icing sugar topped pancakes would line the table, along with frothy caffeinated drinks and green Bloody Marys (yes, green!). The joyous and comforting routine of effortless friendships over food, easing the Sunday blues before another work week, was a blessed one. And that’s who Stefano was at that time too – a friend. We were both involved with other people when we first met, so the base of our friendship was a completely platonic one. Coming together over bowls of deep brick-red muhamara, bowls of spritely green edamame, or on occasion splitting French toast, was part of how we got to know one another (and the others) a lot more. But it was still, just platonic.
That is until a few months later. We were both newly single, and somewhere along the line I started to become infatuated with the ‘Italian’ in our group. I began what would end up being a six-month one-sided courtship, with what I thought were my best flirtation skills, but seemingly went well over Stefano’s head. A casual brush of my hand on his arm, oozing with handsome compliments, always making sure to sit next to him at dinner, and then some. But still, nothing. Then one night in July I thought enough was enough. He invited a few of us round for dinner at his place, having brought some specialities from his last visit to Sicily. I offered to arrive early to help him cook, determined I would use the time alone to disclose my feelings. Quite brave to consider for the start of an evening, but I simply could not wait any longer. When I arrived, steadfast and determined, another friend opened the door. Oh. Okay. I walked into the kitchen to see Stefano carefully rubbing a cut piece of garlic over some freshly warmed baguette slices. Even though I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have my chance to gush how I was feeling before others arrived, I was fixated on what in the world he was doing. He was preparing an antipasti of bruschetta, that quintessential Italian appetizer of toasted bread, chopped tomato, basil and good olive oil. I asked him why he was rubbing the bread with the garlic, and he explained it is how one can add the flavour garlic without the harsh burn of putting its pungent pieces in the mix. It was a culinary revelation and helped Stefano score even more points in my crush o’meter.
Eventually everyone else arrived, and we settled in for a casual evening of fine Italian dining in Achrafieh. Stefano had not only prepared the garlic-laced bruschetta, but also a creamy, pesto di pistacchio. I still remember that first mouthful. The unctuous and smooth Italian panna paired perfectly with the sweetly savoury nutty flavour of the pistachio, culminating in a perfectly sage green coating of the best cooked al dente penne pasta outside of Rome. A healthy scattering of freshly grated parmesan, and it was heaven on a plate. Enough to take my thoughts away from my mission for the evening, even if just for a short while.
Eventually the evening came to a close, friends finishing their wine and calling for a taxi. I waved goodbye to the last of them as they heading to the elevator, Stefano seemingly surprised and confused I hadn’t left with them. I said a final night cap would be nice, and I’m sure I threw in an offer to help with the cleaning. As we sat on the couch, I finally (!) after six months of pursuit told him of my affectionate intentions. They appear to have not once registered in his very humble mind. He describes the next moments like that of when a dam breaks. That in a blink his feelings for me surfaced and that he liked me as well.
With the aromas of the fine meal still lingering in the air, we smiled at each other. And then, we kissed.
Head Over Heels Pasta
Ingredients (for 4 guests, or 2 hungry souls)
I would like to raise caution that the following ingredient amounts, as with any recipe, may need some tweaks on the amounts depending on your palate preferences, the vessels you’re cooking in, and general mood when preparing. So have a play, use your instincts, and taste along the way. No doubt you’ll make a delicious meal.
2 tbsp finest olive oil
1-2 leeks, trimmed, cleaned, cut down the middle and sliced into slim half moons
200ml of panna da cucina, or double cream
Half a 190gr jar of pesto di pistacchio*
300gr penne pasta
As much parmesan, preferrable self-grated, as your kind heart desires
Method
Warm a heavy-set skillet on a medium heat, and splash in your olive oil giving it a few patient moments to warm up.
Tip in your leaks (remember trimmed, cleaned, cut down the middle and sliced into slim half-moons), ceremoniously sprinkle a pinch of sea salt and a good grinding of black pepper. Give a stir and watch them! They need to stay soft, subtle and sweet.
Start to prepare the penne pasta as per your package instructions, though do remember pasta water should be as salty as the Mediterranean (or in Stefano’s case, the Ionian).
Back to the leeks, once they are just cooked through, turn the heat down to low. Pop open your jar of pesto di pistachio. Put in about half of the pesto. A gentle stir for a minute, then add in your panna di cucina/double cream. Bring together with a few more gentle stirs, more salt, more pepper. Calm.
Taste your pasta for doneness, and before draining the pot be sure to scoop an espresso size cup of the pasta water.
Tip your now drained pasta into the skillet with the muted sage green sauce. More gentle stirs to marry it all together. Give a cheeky taste to see if you need to add anything more – a pinch of salt, a teaspoon or so more of the pesto di pistachio, etc.
Portion it out onto white pasta bowls, and encourage your guests to top with parmesan generously. Refill the wine glasses, smile at one another, and enjoy.
*Order online or have a browse at your local Italian deli
