Chapter 16

Justine looked at the mound of flour and egg and sighed.

"Who'd have thought spaghetti would be so hard to make?"

"They have pasta machines that are supposed to make it easier."

"I can hardly carry a machine to Marisha's," Justine said as she scraped the mess into the garbage. "Besides I think you still need to get the dough right. I'm trying everything they say on the internet, but it just isn't working."

"Well, there is only one thing left to do."

"I'm not giving up!"

"I was thinking of asking an expert," Patrick said. "There is a little Italian restaurant that's been advertising that they only serve fresh pasta. They might be willing to help."

"Really?" Justine wiped the counter off. "Let's go."

"Let me call and see if they have space." He pulled a sticky note out of his pocket and dialled the number. "Hi, I was wondering if you had a table for two for this evening? Sure, great, thanks." Patrick looked up at Justine and saw she already had her coat on. He laughed and followed her out the door.

The restaurant was busy with waiters almost running to keep up with the orders. Even calling ahead they had to wait for ten minutes until a table came clear. Once they sat down, they were given garlic bread right away with a promise their order would be taken soon.

"Hi," their server said a little while later, "I'm Phillip and I'm your server tonight. What can I get you?"

"I'd like spaghetti, please." Justine said and Phillip laughed.

"What kind of spaghetti?" he said, "If it is made with pasta, we have it. All kinds of sauces too."

"I just want spaghetti and tomato sauce. I'm trying to learn how to make my own spaghetti and I want to taste what good homemade spaghetti tastes like."

"Ah," Phillip said, "very good then. I know exactly what to bring you."

"I'll just have the special," Patrick said. Phillip grinned and took their menus.

A few minutes later a big man in a white coat and a chef's hat came out of the kitchen.

"Phillip tells me you want to learn to make spaghetti," he said to Justine. "He said you wanted to taste good spaghetti. Here, try this." He put a bowl of spaghetti noodles in front of Justine. They glistened a little with oil and there were flecks of what Patrick thought must be herbs.

Justine picked up her forks and twisted a few strands onto it. She put it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then smiled.

"That's amazing!" She pushed the bowl over to Patrick, "Dad, you have to try this."

Patrick took a mouthful and had to agree with his daughter. There was no comparison with the dry spaghetti they usually ate.

"So, this is what you want to learn?" The chef scowled at her. "You will open your own restaurant and put Georgio out of business."

"I just want to cook for my friends."

"Hah," Georgio said, "we make the pasta early, before it gets busy. Right now is busy, too many knives chopping. Come tomorrow, eight am. I will teach you how to make spaghetti for your friends."

Justine finished the small bowl of spaghetti, then the much larger bowl that came with tomato sauce.

In the morning, he brought her to the restaurant where Georgio handed him a cup of wickedly strong coffee and whisked Justine to the kitchen. Patrick sipped his coffee and listened to the conversation. He brought her home with a small bag of fresh spaghetti in her hands and a determined look in her eyes.

"Georgio said I'm using the wrong kind of flour and we need to watch the humidity when I'm making it up. I have to bring him a sample from my first batch."

They went out and bought the right flour, then Justine went to work. Patrick could hear her muttering Georgio's advice to herself as she mixed the dough then rolled it out as thin as she could get it.

The next Friday evening she boiled water and added a pinch of salt. The noodles were cooked and drained then served out on the plate. She sprinkled a little olive oil and pesto on them.

"Thanks for the food, and say hello to Mom, and please let this work."

"Amen."

"You don't need to say that with such enthusiasm."

"It looks good." He twirled some up on his fork and the strands held together. "Tastes good too," he said past the mouthful of spaghetti. "Dad, that's gross." Justine twirled her own, smaller, mouthful and chewed with a thoughtful expression. "It isn't as good as Chef Georgio's, but it will do."

"So what do you need to bring with you to make the noodles?" Patrick said thinking of sifter, roller, cutter and the rest of the tools.

"I think Marisha has everything I need. The problem was I needed to learn how to use the stuff."

"Right, that makes sense. So are you going tomorrow?"

"Can I?"

"Sure, as long as you're home for dark."

"Drasil always gets me home at the right time."

"See that he does."

"How are things at Marisha's?

"Well," Justine sat back in her chair. "You remember how I told you that everyone welcomes guests with "Welcome and be at peace in our home and hearth."

"Right, I like it but it seemed a little long to say every time."

"It's only the first time that someone comes as a guest. After that it's just 'Welcome.'"

"OK then."

"Well, they take it very seriously. You don't fight inside the house. If you must argue you go outside and argue. People don't argue very long if it's cold and rainy, so they've learned to work things out without arguing."

"Sounds interesting."

"When Marisha and Davvad are discussing something they start making suggestions to the house. Like 'Wouldn't the house be nice with red gingham curtains?' or 'The house would be so happy with an extra shed to store tools.' They can go on for days like that."

"Mmmhmmm."