Day 65: Mambo Italiano.

Since moving to France and having more free time than a busy 9-8 work schedule as well as the fierce combination of being broke and not having a microwave, I have had no choice but to take up cooking in order to sustain myself. At first it was a nuisance and would rush through preparing meals of scrambled eggs with a blop of cheese thrown in or if I wanted to be 'healthy' I'd boil frozen broccoli into submission that ended up having the consistency of baby food. No wonder I was so grouchy when I first moved here, I was eating like an animal. I have improved immensely during my two years in Paris but theres still a long ways to go before I release a book of 'cooking secrets'. Fear the day that ever comes into fruition. 
I went to Sebastien's apartment for the first time tonight and prepared him a traditional Italian Sunday night dinner that I would be enjoying if I was in New York. Sunday nights at my Grandmother's consist of my entire family, my 6 male cousins and their patient and god-sent girlfriends, my brother and his girlfriend du jour and sometimes a childhood friend will come by or even the occasional cheating ex-husband will stop by for dinner. A little weird, yes but hey we're Italian. We hold grudges but we still have to eat! My grandfather commences the dinner with a prayer in Italian that can either take 2 seconds and is a mumble of several different prayers including a funeral prayer or the painful extended version that can last up to 5 minutes. We never really know what rendition were going to get, it depends on how many Manhattans he's had during antipasti. 
Wanting to recreate Sunday; New York-style for Sebastien, I stopped by Pasta Linea to pick up some Prociutto, Mozzerella, Sopressata and accompanied it with tomatoes on the vine, garlic, sauce and a box of Penne. No, I did not make the sauce from scratch. Thats a project that would have started at 8am, so Barilla Basil Pomodoro was going to have to suffice, I just faked it by adding fresh tomatoes.
Sebastien's apartment was exactly what I expected it to be. Tidy, with new hardwood floors and stacks of coffee table books, shelves of records and vintage knick-knacks. Since he lives in the 18th, he pays less rent than me and has a one bedroom apartment with two balconies with a view of Sacre Coeur. 
He had a bottle of Barolo breathing and for kitch I put on Dean Martin and got to cookin' while gossiping about the annoying girl at my gym who likes to show off that she can sing in English. 
Dinner was a success besides the fact that I burnt the garlic and the sauce but luckily, pasta is the easiest thing to prepare and setting out mozzerella and procuitto isn't a terribly daunting task, so I was able to impress Sebastien with my 'culinary skills' and kept him a full and happy man. 
Pasta Linea
4, rue de Turenne
75004 Paris