“I don’t want to mess it up,” said Lora.
“No, you absolutely can’t mess it up,” agreed Giada. “When pasta isscotta, you can’t go back. It’s cooked wrong and that’s the end of it.”
“I know, it’s so nerve-racking. I feel like I’ll never get it right,” Lora said, her face pained. Having been more or less oblivious to Italian customs and culture when she first came here, she was now adamant about absorbing as much authenticity as she possibly could. She’d never again drink cappuccino after eleven in the morning, had been to Rome twice and could complain about the smell of the garbage as fluently as a local, and, after a trip up to the city at Christmas, believed that there was no building on earth as beautiful as the Duomo in Milan. Knowing that certain people would throw out awhole pan of pasta if it was even one minute overcooked, she was determined to do this properly if it killed her.
“You will. It takes practice,” Giada said, passing the spatula to Vivi. “What do you think?”
Vivi examined the pasta, pushed on it with her finger.
“It needs two minutes. But only two minutes! Don’t let it go longer.”
“But we’ve been talking for another thirty seconds, so is it ninety seconds or one hundred twenty?”
“Non scottare la pasta!” yelled Carola from the terrace. They had brought the table outside so that they could enjoy the warm spring sunshine, and Carola was outside dressing the gigantic salad she’d brought.
“Lo so, lo so.I know, my god, the pressure.” Lora brought her hands up to her face.
“OK, try it now,” Giada said, dipping back into the boiling water. Vivi pushed on it and nodded. “Yes? OK, go, go!”
Lora grabbed two potholders and poured out the contents into a metal colander that sat in the sink.
“Save some of the pasta water!” Vivi tipped the pot back up with her fingers.
“Oops, yes. Got it.” Lora used the spider to pull out thepaccheriand drop them directly into a large sauté pan with just-cookeddatterinitomatoes, a couple of cloves of garlic, clams, squid, mussels, and shrimp. She let it all simmer together for a few seconds, then added a few spoonfuls of pasta water, watching a creamy liquid form around everything.
“I’m going to get the parsley from Carola,” said Giada, scooting out the back door.
“OK, heat off!” said Vivi. “And pull out the garlic.”
“Done.” Lora spooned out the three giant white cloves from the sauté pan and set them on a plate in the middle of the chaos on the counter. She might have learned to cook and even appreciate tomatoes, but she still hadn’t mastered “cleaning as you go.”
“Amore, this is the biggest bowl we have. Will it work?” Andrea rounded the corner into the kitchen with a large ceramic bowl, a bundle of asparagus painted in the center. He’d been digging around in a box of kitchen things that never quite got unpacked since he moved into the town house with Lora. “Perfect. Thank you.” She kissed him as he cleaned off the bowl in the sink.
“Permesso!” Ottavio and Emanuela appeared at the front door holding a bottle of wine. “Scusa il ritardo, eh.I’m so sorry we are late. It’s my fault. I was on the phone with my editor. It’s still only afternoon in New York.”
“Non c’e problema!” Lora said, pouring the contents of the pan into the large bowl. Giada brought back the chopped parsley in a dish, and Lora sprinkled it over the top of the pasta. “We’re ready!”
Lora led the way out to the terrace and set the bowl on the table next to Carola’s salad, a basket of focaccia and some of Vivi’s homemade bread, a cruet of olive oil, and an open bottle of wine. Ottavio and Emanuela double-kissed hello with the rest of the guests as they all chatted about where to sit. Andrea picked up the bottle and began filling glasses.
“Where’s Nico?” asked Lora, standing over the table with serving utensils poised.
“Running late from a lesson. Or on the phone with Vilmari.” Andrea laughed.
“Either is possible.” She smiled. “OK, everybody, hand me your dishes.”
“First, though,cin, everyone.” Andrea raised his glass and handed one to Lora. Each guest raised their glasses in turn and repeated the toast.
“Carola, this salad looks amazing!” Vivi leaned over the bowl to get a better view of the fresh spring vegetables.
“É la stagione dei piselli.Spring peas,” Carola said. “Anche fave.”
“Fava beans?” asked Lora.
“Sì,” said Carola, smiling. “Sembri molto a tuo agio.”
“I look very comfortable,” Lora repeated in English with a smile. She turned to Carola. “Perche sono felice.”
“Still?” asked Andrea, turning to Lora, who was passing back dishes full ofpaccheri allo scoglio.
