the best pasta i have ever had
new york city, 1991
It’s Autumn in Manhattan, just after our mid-September wedding in ‘91. Mom comes to New York to our new, old apartment. We are on East 70th Street between 1st and 2nd, elevator, doorman – apartment 1a. We purchase the Upper East side one bed, galley kitchen with 750-square feet of space for days and a door off the living room that leads to a private outdoor patio. We have a tiny herb garden in the cement clad beds. An iron table from the flea market we spray paint shiny white, a red Weber grill and a hose for watering. We can now let Bart, our teeny white Maltese out in our very own slate back yard.
Joy Todd, Woody Allen’s casting agent rents it to us for years, until condo rules will no longer allow. “Kids, it’s Joy. You need to buy the apartment or move out.” They will only let me rent it three out of every five years, It’s four. We have wedding money in our savings account, that barely covers the 25% down payment our building will require. “We have a ton of frequent flyer miles, would you be open to a trade,” I offer? We strike a deal. 10k down, she fronts the remainder and six round trip flights to LA to visit her daughter and new grandbaby. Homeowners at 26.
I inherit minty green chintz covered sofas with bits of embroidery covering the overstuffed cushions. It is a hand-me-down from our inlaws. Helen is British, and so is our newly worn inheritance. As an owner, I now sponge paint the walls in matching tones. I learn this in my Country Living magazine.
“I am dizzy” Mom shares, “your prints have prints.” The pattern mixing is a look I emulate from the pages of design magazines, proud of my handiwork. Mom is amused. We go for pasta around the corner. “Penne Arrabiata with grilled shrimp for me”, she orders.
A girls night out. And in. Just us. In my city. On the way home we grab frozen yogurt from the corner bodega with all the toppings in tiny cups to go. Mom seems so pleased as she dips into her vanilla/chocolate swirl and adds colored sprinkles and carob chips.
Eddie is out of town and this sleepover is a treat. I tuck her into my bed, new sheets, vintage quilt. I take the sofa, though she offered to share the queen. I doze off happy, and full of pride, dinner and desert.
“This is the best pasta I have ever had in my whole life,” Mom shared at dinner that night.
A memory that now carries incredible weight in my life without her.
savored every detail.