Lessons Learned

while an assistant carved Pierre’s duck. With the ease of experience, he took a small sliver and popped it into Juliet’s mouth. It dissolved there, leaving behind an elusive flavor that begged for more. Carlo merely laid his tongue on his thumb to test. “Exquisite, as always. Do you remember, Pierre, when we prepared the Shah’s engagement feast? Five, six years ago.”
    “Seven,” Pierre corrected and sighed.
    “Your duck and my cannelloni.”
    “Magnificent. Not so much paprika on that fish,” he boomed out. “We are not in Budapest. Those were the days,” he continued easily. “But…” The shrug was essentially Gallic. “When a man has his third child, he has to settle down, oui? ”
    Carlo gave another look at the kitchen, and with an expert’s eye approved. “You’ve picked an excellent spot. Perhaps you’d let me have a corner of it for a short time.”
    “A corner?”
    “A favor,” Carlo said with a smile that would have charmed the pearls from oysters. “I’ve promised my Juliet to teach her how to prepare linguini.”
    “Linguini con vongole biance?” Pierre’s eyes glittered.
    “Naturally. It is my specialty.”
    “You can have a corner of my kitchen, mon ami, in exchange for a plate.”
    Carlo laughed and patted Pierre’s stomach. “For you, amico, two plates.”
    Pierre clasped him by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. “I feel my youth coming back to me. Tell me what you need.”
    In no time at all, Juliet found herself covered in a white apron with her hair tucked into a chef’s hat. She might have felt ridiculous if she’d been given the chance.
    “First you mince the clams.”
    Juliet looked at Carlo, then down at the mess of clams on the cutting board. “Mince them?”
    “Like so.” Carlo took the knife and with a few quick moves had half of the clams in small, perfect pieces. “Try.”
    Feeling a bit like an executioner, Juliet brought the knife down. “They’re not…well, alive, are they?”
    “ Madonna, any clam considers himself honored to be part of Franconi’s linguini. A bit smaller there. Yes.” Satisfied, he passed her an onion. “Chopped, not too fine.” Again, he demonstrated, but this time Juliet felt more at home. Accepting the knife, she hacked again until the onion was in pieces and her eyes were streaming.
    “I hate to cook,” she muttered but Carlo only pushed a clove of garlic at her.
    “This is chopped very fine. Its essence is what we need, not so much texture.” He stood over her shoulder, watching until he approved. “You’ve good hands, Juliet. Now here, melt the butter.”
    Following instructions, she cooked the onion and garlic in the simmering butter, stirring until Carlo pronounced it ready.
    “Now, it’s tender, you see. We add just a bit of flour.” He held her hand to direct it as she stirred it in. “So it thickens. We add the clams. Gently,” he warned before she could dump them in. “We don’t want them bruised. Ah…” He nodded with approval. “Spice,” he told her. “It’s the secret and the strength.”
    Bending over her, he showed her how to take a pinch of this, a touch of that and create. As the scent became more pleasing, her confidence grew. She’d never remember the amounts or the ingredients, but found it didn’t matter.
    “How about that?” she asked, pointing to a few sprigs of parsley.
    “No, that comes just at the end. We don’t want to drown it. Turn the heat down, just a little more. There.” Satisfied, henodded. “The cover goes on snug, then you let it simmer while the spices wake up.”
    Juliet wiped the back of her hand over her damp brow. “Carlo, you talk about the sauce as though it lived and breathed.”
    “My sauces do,” he said simply. “While this simmers, you grate the cheese.” He picked up a hunk and with his eyes closed, sniffed. “Squisito.”
    He had her grate and stir while the rest of the kitchen staff worked around them. Juliet thought of her mother’s kitchen with its tidy counters and homey smells. She’d never seen anything like this. It certainly wasn’t quiet. Pans were dropped, people and dishes were cursed, and fast was the order of the day. Busboys hustled in and out, weighed down with trays, waiters and waitresses breezed through demanding their orders. While she watched wide-eyed, Carlo ignored. It was time to create his pasta.
    Unless it was already cooked and in a meal, Juliet thought of pasta as something you got off the shelf in a