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“Okay. Bruce, honey, can you get the machine out for me?”
“Sure.” Bruce pulled the machine out from the bottom of a cupboard and set it on the counter before taking a seat at the little table and reaching for a magazine.
“What do we need?”
“Flour, eggs, salt, a bowl, a fork.” I replied, taking the steaming coffee from her with a smile.
Ellen collected all the ingredients and placed them on the island. “Finish your coffee first.”
“It might be better to do it now, because it needs to sit for about fifteen minutes before we roll it out. This part is actually probably the easiest. Quickest, too.” I reached for the all-purpose flour, poured it into the bowl, added the semolina, then the salt. “Make a well in the center with your fingers…like this…then add the eggs. I always add one extra egg because it makes it a bit lighter. You can do this in a mixer, too, but it’s good to do it manually till you get a feel for it.” Ellen watched as I dexterously mixed the eggs through, kneading it all together and covering it with plastic wrap before wiping my hands on a kitchen towel and sitting back down, reaching for my coffee.
Ellen sat down next to me. “I think I was okay with that part, it’s when you roll it out that it got me. It kept falling apart.”
“That’s easily fixed.”
“Excellent.” After that, Ellen kept up a steady stream of comfortable chatter as we drank our coffee, telling a funny story about Chloe and Mila, and saying she was sure she heard Xavier say Nana just the other day. It was all very easy and relaxed, and I had to admit to myself that I really liked it. I would miss more than Matt and the house when I finally left Esperance, I thought sadly.
Taking the last sip of my coffee, I put the mug in the sink, pulled a hair tie from my pocket and put my hair up in a high bun before washing my hands and turning back to the island. “Okay. Ready?”
“Not sure,” Ellen said with a laugh, putting her mug in the sink as well, washing her hands, and coming to stand next to me.
I sprinkled the top of the island with the semolina and dropped the mixture in the middle, kneading it for a minute before standing back, allowing Ellen to take over. “That’s it. You can add water or oil if it dries out too much, but that looks good.”
“You’re a genius!”
I chuckled. “Not really, just lots of practice. The semolina makes all the difference, it doesn’t dry out as much.” I cut the ball of dough into quarters and rolled it out. “Now, you do this next part, because it’s the toughest. First though, it’s best to sprinkle some semolina on the rollers, then the dough won’t stick.” I handed the length of dough to Ellen, watched as she tried to feed the pasta sheet in. “Let it catch by itself, don’t force it. That’s it.” I turned the roller, laughing when the sheet came through perfectly and Ellen clapped her hands in excitement.
“Look at that, honey! I did it!” She held up the sheet for Bruce, who raised his mug in salute, his eyes sparkling.
After threading the pasta sheet through the rollers over and over, using steadily narrower settings, I said, “Okay, the last step is to make it into noodles.” I attached the cutter to the machine, turned the handle as Ellen fed the sheet through, absolutely entranced when the noodles came out perfectly formed and just elastic enough on the other side.
“Would you look at that. What do we do now?”
“You can cook them right away, freeze them, or hang them somewhere to dry out.”
Ellen held the noodles in her hand, looking around the kitchen for a likely spot. Grinning, I gestured at the rack above the island.
“Perfect!” She went to climb up on a stool.
“Why don’t I do that?” I said hastily as Bruce rose from the table. I took the noodles and flicked them over the rack, then looked at Ellen. “Now what?”
She gazed at the noodles for a moment, a very satisfied gleam in her eye. “Can we make some more?”
“Sure,” I said with a laugh. “How about I show you in the mixer this time, it’s quicker and you know what to look for now in terms of texture.”
When Lucy came in from work half an hour later, she eyed the pasta hanging from the rack, more pasta thrown across a plastic-wrapped broomstick balanced between two cupboards, and Ellen and I kneading yet more pasta. Grinning at me, she went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Too early?” I glanced at the clock, saw it was nearly five o’clock and, grinning back, shook my head. Lucy poured the wine and handed around the glasses before taking a grateful sip of her own. “I see you got your pasta problem fixed, Ma.”
“I did! Well, Zara did. We’ve got spaghetti, tagliatelle, fettucine and pappardelle. What else are we going to make, Zara? I can’t remember.”
“This batch is going to make more fettucine and pappardelle, so you’ve got two batches of each kind. After that, we’re going to make farfalle and maybe some penne, if you like.”
Lucy pulled out a stool and sat down, watching in rapt attention as her mom fed the dough through the roller, expertly caught it as it came out, fed it through again. “Wow, Mom, you’re a pro!”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Can I play?”
“Sure. You want to make penne?” When Lucy nodded enthusiastically, I reached into the pasta machine box Bruce had slid into the corner, removing a Garganelli board. “You’ll need this.” I showed Lucy how to shape the penne using the board and a stick, then found myself at a loose end as Ellen was rolling the last of the dough through the machine. “That’s the last of it, Ellen.”
