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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required it is one of those dinners leaning in the doorway, she is working to her, this is a simple one spaghetti ala Carbonara she explains it to me as she processes pancetta is meat from pork belly salt-cured in black pepper, other spices made with egg, hard cheese prefers to use the spaghetti noodles altho other kinds of pasta are used you may also use guanciale for pancetta she fluctuates between Pecorino, Romano for her hard cheese before her, i also varied my cheeses white and yellow American cheese which soon disappeared in our marriage leaning in the doorway i am enthralled still as i watch her years have only increased my ardor and i do listen to her every word upon the plate, it appears garnishes with a grating of Parmigiano-Reggiano topped with parsley bread smothered in garlic, cheese liberally sprinkled salad of spinach, kale, arugula, topped with cherry tomatoes, black olives, her own dressing sworn to silence about the dressing ingredients at dinner, she explains the eggs they feed the chickens marigolds to add yellow the creamy is obtained by correctly emulsifying eggs, cheese using some of the water used for the pasta i have heard every word never taking my eyes off of her now you may ask, hasn't she said this before i will tell you, i heard every word this is the woman to whom i was reading poetry on a park bench, a ritual in our lives where love walked us to the aisle praying Cupid would grant my wishes unleash a quiver of arrows suddenly streets were amok full of beggars upon horses she reached over and closed the book then said, shut up and kiss me my patience is at wit's end love is mysterious in its ways it is inside humor we share over a plate of spaghetti ala Carbonara outside the world dances in its din the furnaces of stars churn away and not once have the marigolds at this table produced nostalgia for my yellow American cheese i have heard her every word it has kept me on my toes that life never presents her at wit's end 3/5/19 Kismet
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