Pasta water

from my mom

From an early age, I had no interest in cooking, eating, yes, growing up in Paris good meals were a given, horse meat served at school lunches not withstanding.

Years later, I prepared meals for my kids with rudimentary skills, text book nourishment and variety were required, but nothing beyond that. I also had a son who mostly ate, carbohydrates and peeled hot dogs, I occasionally would hide thinly minced vegetables in pasta sauces, but he picked up on that one.

I would at times prepare a meal; get bored, distracted, forget about the simmering fare on the stove, check the Criterion exclusive premieres, and then, the smell of burnt meat permeated the smoky room.

The nearby fire house often came running, embarrassed I offered a lame excuse and a glass of wine.

Romilly developed a passion for all things food and kitchen related. She would drag me to cooking appliance stores and swoon over a mandolin as the perfect eleventh birthday present, she choose to discuss the different merits and looks of gas stoves over dinner and she perfected her chopping skills daily. I was always proud of her obsessive nature and focus, but years later as we hung out in the kitchen together, I started to observe the way she diced, how she spilled pasta water into the sauce, adding parmesan rinds, here and there...and more, much more, instinctively she knew what to do and how to do it.

I now, enjoy making a meal and using Romilly’s tricks of the trade, which come more naturally.

We talk about the best place to buy a certain cut of meat, fresh pasta and all.... and thanks to her I see the joy in preparing a meal for friends and family. It’s no longer drudgery, and I think that it as much about the enjoyment of the task at hand as it is about letting go and trusting ones instincts, as with everything, no doubt.