Angelina's Bachelors
Page 7
Basil looked past Dottie to Angelina. “Oh, hello,” he said to her.
“Angelina, this is my brother, Basil Cupertino. He just retired and is coming to live with me. This is Angelina, from across the street, the one I was telling you about.”
Angelina stuck out her hand. “How are you, Mr. Cupertino? Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“I’m very charmed to meet you, young lady. Very sorry, too, to hear about the loss of your husband.”
Angelina looked away for a moment. The mention of the word husband made her flinch. For a moment, and against her better nature, she regretted having come over. Then she looked back at Mr. Cupertino and found that she had no trouble looking him in the eye, and the fleeting feeling passed as quickly as it came. He seemed like a nice man.
“Thank you,” she said. “He was a great guy.”
Mr. Cupertino smiled the slightest of smiles. “And a wise man, to marry such a beautiful girl. What’s in the dish?”
“Angelina’s brought a lasagna,” said Dottie.
Mr. Cupertino regarded the dish and Angelina in turn. “That’s very nice of you,” he said.
“It’s nothing,” Angelina replied. “I hope you like it.”
“Will you stay for a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“I have to get going. But thank you. Some other time?”
“Very good,” he said with a courteous nod, as he tucked his reading glasses into his pocket.
“Well,” said Dottie, “I’ll go and get this in the oven. Thanks, Ange.”
Basil followed Dottie inside and turned to give Angelina a last genial wave with his paper before shutting the door. As she turned toward home, Angelina thought how pleased Dottie must be to be able to count on having company for dinner.
A few days later, after her first relatively restful night’s sleep, Angelina was catching up on her chores. She took pride in always keeping her kitchen floor clean enough to eat off of; she stayed on top of it and made sure that dirt never got a chance to take hold. She was down on her hands and knees practicing that philosophy with a stiff brush and a bucket of hot, soapy water when the doorbell rang.
She took a few extra seconds to finish a stubborn spot, and the bell rang again. She got up, dropped the brush into the bucket, and opened the door abruptly, in her apron and yellow rubber gloves.
Basil Cupertino stood there, with an empty lasagna pan in his hands.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Cupertino.”
She stripped off the gloves and tucked them into her apron pocket. Mr. Cupertino stood silently. Angelina couldn’t help the sudden feeling that he was sizing her up somehow.
“Hello, Angelina. My sister sent me over with this.” He indicated the dish with his eyes, but didn’t actually offer it to her.
“To return it,” he said, after a long pause.
Angelina was unsure whether she should reach for it or not. He seemed disinclined to let it go.
“Here it is,” he said at last, then reluctantly handed it over.
“Thanks, Mr. Cupertino. You didn’t have to do that. I would have stopped by for it.”
“Well, now there’s no need.”
He put his hands into his pockets, like a man waiting for a bus; or just waiting.
“Believe me, it’s not a problem.”
Angelina put her hand on the side of the door. “Well, thanks again …”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Okay, then.”
“Glad to do it,” he replied.
He showed not even the smallest perceptible signal of going and exhibited every sign of a man with something on his mind. Angelina, under the lasting influence of a polite upbringing, was left no choice but to temporarily abandon her intention to get back to scrubbing the floor.
“Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, Mr. Cupertino?”
He inclined his head diffidently at the invitation. “Yes,” he said as he scrupulously wiped his feet on the mat. “Yes, I would. Thank you very much.”
He walked past her and into the living room. Angelina clicked the door shut and followed.
“I was just finishing cleaning up in the kitchen.”
“Oh, are you making anything?” Basil asked eagerly. He sounded hopeful.
“No. But I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing if you’d like …”
“That would be wonderful.”
Basil made a beeline for the kitchen. The tightly spaced row homes up and down Angelina’s street were virtually the same in layout, so he knew precisely where he was going. Frank had made some home improvements; he had built a bow window in the front and expanded the kitchen by a few feet to give Angelina space for a walk-in pantry and to make room for Old Reliable and a big, old wooden farm table. But so alike were Dottie’s and Angelina’s that Mr. Cupertino was able to immediately make himself right at home.
As Angelina put away her cleaning supplies, he paced, not nervously, but like a man in the market for a new house taking the measure of the kitchen in a model home. He ran his hand along the counters, commented appreciatively on the cornucopia of herbs she had hanging and drying, and asked some intelligent questions about her undeniably impressive stove, about its provenance, BTU output, and the like. Once he had taken a seat at the kitchen table, Angelina placed a steaming china mug in front of him.
“How do you take it?” she asked.
“Black is fine.”
She sat down facing him from across the table.
He suddenly tapped the cup with his forefinger. “On second thought, is there a drop of milk for the coffee?”
“Sure.”
Before she could even move to get up, Basil was on his feet and heading for the refrigerator, begging her, “Please, allow me.” He opened the refrigerator door and his head disappeared under its top edge.
Seconds passed. Angelina tilted her head quizzically and said, “It’s on the top shelf.”
More seconds later Basil replied, “Yes. Yes, I see. My goodness.”
His head reappeared. He seemed pleased.
He returned with the quart bottle of milk in his hand and tipped a little into his cup. He took a sip before he said, “Your kitchen is very clean.” It was more of a verdict than an opinion or a compliment.
Angelina drank from her cup and smiled. “My mother always said it was easier to cook good food in a clean kitchen.”
The sentiment behind that remark seemed to put him even more at his ease. He sighed appreciatively. “I have lived my entire working career in just such an orderly fashion,” said Basil.
“What did you do? If you don’t mind me prying,” she added with a touch of irony.
He folded his hands and looked at her evenly, with a businesslike mien. “I was an actuary for forty years, nearly to the day. Head of the department for the last ten. My job was to calculate and assess risk for a large insurance company. I could often tell to within a month how long a man might live after he retired. Or if he would make it to retirement.”
“Really?” Angelina nodded, impressed.
“Yes. I always had very good information to work with, but I think I had an instinct for it, too. Actuarial tables can only tell you so much. The human element is very important. If a man was an avid hobbyist of some kind, or had grandchildren, if he had a clearly stated proposition for living longer, I would add time to my assessments, always. There’s no question, having something to live for counts, from a practical point of view.”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
Basil looked down. “And now I’m retired. And I’ve come to live with my sister.”
Angelina was about to tell him how much she liked Dottie and what a good neighbor she’d been over the years, but he preempted her and spoke first, finally coming to his point.
“Would you mind if I told you what I want to live for now, Angelina?”
“What’s that, Mr. Cupertino?”
He pushed his cup aside and leaned forward. “Passion.”
“Passion?”
“Th
at’s right, Angelina. Passion.”
Angelina shifted in her chair, caught somewhat off-guard, but captivated by his sudden intensity.
“For forty years,” he said, “almost to the day, I have diligently applied myself to numbers. I read—mostly newspapers and the like, I saw the occasional film—but never anything that really stirred the soul. But now, I am determined to experience the artistic side of life. I want to read poetry—epic poetry, poetry that has stood the test of time. I want to go to museums and see paintings—Picassos and van Goghs, to see beyond mere paint and canvas to the soul underneath them. I want to hear a symphony orchestra and go to an opera and listen to Miles Davis and Louis Armstrong and buy a Beatles record. All these things that I’ve missed, these are the things I want to experience now, if I can. I want to experience the passion of the senses.”
He waited, gauging her reaction. Angelina’s eyes had gone wider and wider as he spoke.
“Really?” was all she could manage to say.
“Yes.” Basil leaned in even farther. “Yes, and I needed to talk to you, Angelina, because I believe that I’ve begun to experience my passion, thanks to you.”
“Mr. Cupertino, I’m not completely sure what you’re talking about here, but don’t you think I’m too young for you?”
He laughed, a deep, affable laugh, filled with easy amusement. “It’s not you, dear. It’s your lasagna.”
“My lasagna?”
Basil closed his eyes. “Lasagna. I never realized what a beautiful word it was until now. Laa-sahn-yah. Just saying the word, I swear I can taste it again. I’ve been eating your lasagna for three days. Three rapturous days. Each bite gets my senses going all over again, and the more I eat, the better it gets. Angelina, eating that lasagna you made was one of the most moving experiences of my life.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Basil took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. “I did. So, let’s get down to business. Angelina, how are you fixed since your late husband passed away?”
She hadn’t seen that one coming at all, but she matched his professional manner.
“I’m not sure that is your business.”
“Forgive me,” said Basil. “That was indelicate. Please, allow me to start over. In actual fact, I came here to make you a proposal.”
“I’m not sure what to make of all this, Mr. Cupertino, but, frankly, you intrigue me.”
“I was hoping you’d feel that way.” He peered over his glasses. “Here it is: I would like to pay you to cook for me. My sister, Dottie, is a wonderful, companionable person, but she is a god-awful cook.”
Angelina looked at him sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
“It would be worse for you if you ate her pasta e fagioli. To continue, I would like to commission you to cook breakfasts and dinners for me, six days a week, with a day off of your choosing. I would come to you, so there wouldn’t be any transportation of goods required. The menus will also be entirely of your choosing.”
“You’d come to me?”
“Of course. If that would be acceptable?”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“In exchange, I will pay you, on a monthly basis, in advance, the amount I have written on this piece of paper.”
He took a folded, lined sheet of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Angelina opened it, read it, refolded it, and placed it in front of her.
“I can’t argue the fact that I could use some help making ends meet, Mr. Cupertino. And I could feed you extremely well for the number written on this piece of paper. But how does Dottie feel about the idea? I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes.”
Basil nodded, clearly having anticipated the question.
“She’s started working the night shift at the store, so I’d be on my own for most of my meals, anyway. I have discussed it with her and she’s all for it.”
Angelina sat still, taking a moment to let the idea sink in. Basil waited her out patiently, then, when he felt the time was right, said, “Do we have a deal?”
“Yes. We have a deal.”
Mr. Cupertino stood and they shook on it.
Their business successfully transacted, Mr. Cupertino took his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on, then Angelina saw him to the door. He stopped when he reached the sidewalk and called back to her jauntily. “See you for breakfast tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”
“Eight it is. Don’t be late.”
“I never am.”
Angelina smiled in spite of herself as she leaned against the closed front door lost in thought. Had she agreed too quickly? The number that Mr. Cupertino had written on that piece of paper was extremely generous. Even if she hadn’t lost her job, it might have been impossible to refuse. She felt a tingle of pride and excitement. He certainly liked her cooking, didn’t he?
Too late to turn back now, she thought. A deal’s a deal. she had to go shopping. As she got ready to go out, picture after picture of ideas for breakfasts and dinners riffled rapidly through her mind like a culinary flip book. She would have to start him off with something a little bit special, something classic, for breakfast.
And she might have to go and buy a frame for that lasagna recipe.
Lasagna Provençal
* * *
Serves 12
INGREDIENTS
2 tablespoons olive oil (1 to sauté and 1 to toss with the noodles)
2 shallot cloves, diced small
2 cloves garlic, lightly crushed and minced
One 16-ounce can diced tomatoes
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary leaves, very finely minced (from about 1 large sprig)
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves minced (from about 6 to 12 sprigs depending on how densely the leaves have grown on the stems)
1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves, minced (from about 12 sprigs)
2 fresh sage leaves, finely minced
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon ground black pepper
One 16-ounce package lasagna noodles (which contains approximately 16 to 20 noodles)
2 cups ricotta cheese
4 ounces Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, 2 ounces grated to yield 1 cup and 2 ounces cut into 24 two-inch-long, ¼-inch batonnets
8 ounces Neufchâtel cheese, cut into ½-inch cubes
2 large eggs, beaten
½ cup fresh chopped basil leaves, ¼ cup to layer over the tomato fresca (sauce) and ¼ cup for the top plus 12 tiny sprigs to garnish
2 tablespoons fresh oregano leaves, minced (from about 6 to 12 sprigs depending on density of leaves)
1½ cups oil-packed, sun-dried tomatoes, julienne cut, about an 8-ounce jar
2 cups shredded Gruyère cheese (about 8 ounces)
5-ounce package herbed Boursin cheese
½ cup crème fraîche
METHOD
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil for the lasagna noodles.
To make the tomato fresca, heat one tablespoon of the olive oil over medium high heat in a medium saucepot, and sauté the shallots and garlic until they become translucent. Add the diced tomatoes, rosemary, thyme, parsley, sage, and salt and pepper, and stir to combine. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer uncovered just until the flavors are integrated but before the tomatoes begin to break down, about 20 minutes, checking periodically to make sure the sauce doesn’t burn.
Boil the lasagna noodles until al dente, about 10 to 15 minutes. Drain and transfer to a large bowl. Toss with the remaining tablespoon of olive oil so the noodles don’t stick together. Let cool so you can handle them.
This lasagna will have 4 layers but two different types of cheese layers. One type of cheese layer will consist of ricotta, grated Parmesan, Neufchâtel, and egg to bind. Combine the ricotta and Parmesan in a mixing bowl, stir in half of the cubed Neufchâtel (reserving half of the cubes until assembly), whisk in the eggs, and set aside briefly. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Layer 4 to 5 lasagna no
odles lengthwise side by side with edges overlapping in an ovenproof lasagna dish. Top with half of the cheese/egg mixture and arrange 12 of the Parmesan strips and half of the reserved cubed Neufchâtel evenly over it, reserving the rest of the Parmesan and Neufchâtel for the other layer. (It is easiest to drop evenly spaced spoonfuls of the cheese/egg mixture over the noodles, then spread it out.) Distribute 2 tablespoons of the fresh basil, half of the fresh oregano, and ½ cup of the sun-dried tomatoes over the cheese, then layer another 4 or 5 lasagna noodles over the cheese in the same fashion as the first layer of noodles.
The second type of cheese layer will consist of Gruyère and Boursin. Spread half of the Gruyère over the second layer of noodles and drop dollops of half of the Boursin cheese over the Gruyère. Distribute another ½ cup of the sun-dried tomatoes over the cheese. For the third layer, repeat the process with the noodles, remaining cheese/egg mixture, the remaining 12 Parmesan strips, remaining half of the reserved cubed Neufchâtel, 2 tablespoons basil, remaining oregano, and remaining sun-dried tomatoes. For the last (top) layer, spread out the final course of noodles, top with dollops of the remaining Boursin and dollops of the crème fraîche, and then ladle the tomato sauce over the top and finish with the remaining Gruyère.
Bake covered (with foil) in the oven for 30 minutes, remove the foil, and bake for 10 more minutes. Remove from the oven and let rest for 10 minutes before slicing into 12 squares. Sprinkle the surface with ¼ cup fresh-minced basil. Arrange a basil sprig next to the lasagna on each serving plate.
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
Eggs Benedict with Basil
BASIL CUPERTINO WAS a man of fastidious habits, possessed of a methodical way of approaching his life. He had planned financially for his retirement, meticulously so, but he knew that taking full advantage of his newfound free time required planning of an entirely different sort. He had considered that he might travel in the coming years, maybe to Italy, to Florence or Rome, but quickly enough decided that those kinds of adventures might come only sporadically at best. He knew himself well enough to know that he didn’t travel especially well, and that he never looked forward to the disruption of a reliable, daily routine that came with packing up and shuffling off to some undiscovered country. He wouldn’t rule it out, but wouldn’t commit to making it a mainstay of his plans. With admirable efficiency, he’d concluded that he would satisfy himself instead with adventures of the mind.