Cream Sauce From Three People

“Damn it to hell!” He threw the fry pan into the sink. The burnt garlic hung bitterly in the air as he washed out the inside of the pan. The warm water sizzled as it hit the metal. He put the pan back on the stove, with three turns of olive oil to heat.
Again he pulled cloves from the head and smashed them free of their skin. Dicing them finely, he could feel slivers of garlic under his fingernails, the smell tart and sharp in his nose. The garlic sizzled when it hit the pan, and this time he stayed by the stoves edge. The small bits of white turned a pale yellow in the olive oil and browned as he stirred them gently. The sharp sent in his nose becoming smoother and sweeter. He threw in the onions, sprinkled on the salt and lowered the heat. His eyes watered as the onion hung burning in the air.

The fry pan soaked up the olive oil wishing for more. Always wanting more fat and more salt. The well-worn handle shone from the traces of oil the cook had on his hands and slid easily against the cooks skin.

She came into the kitchen and smiled at his back. He scratched his head as he looked down. She fought the urge sneak up behind him and slip a limp strand of onion from the pan. Closing her eyes she imagined the translucent sweet and salty bite slid down her mouth. When she opened them he still stood with his back to her. “Get out,” he said and there beside the cutting board on a saucer was a small pile of sautéed onions.
She stepped forward and took the plate. It scratched against the marble counter as she watched his back twitch. “I said…”
“Yeah yeah, I’m going.”

He held onto the fry pan until she was gone, with his free hand hanging loosely at his side, then he sliced a thick slab of butter from the stick on the counter. The knife grated against the edge of pan as he slid it in. The light yellow melted into the onions and the garlic in a shinny base, gleaming up at him.

Ready ready ready, ready for more. “Pancetta now please,” it screamed. “Give it to me, give it to me,” and then it sizzled, “yeaaaahhhh,” as the cubed meat hit it. The black bottom let the onions meld with the pancetta as it browned. The sweet scent of the onions became nutty with fat.

He let the pancetta brown, stirring it back and forth to keep it from burning. He watched as the small pieces became smaller, curling in on themselves. He took deep breaths and rolled his neck back and forth, letting himself become fully engulfed by smell. With his eyes closed, he let the browning start to pop.

She looked longingly at the empty saucer on the coffee table. With her feat tucked underneath her she bit her upper lip. The smell of pancetta browning hit her. Richer, nuttier then bacon. She flipped on the TV as a loud grumble erupted. She ran her hand over her stomach and flipped mindlessly. Sports center, Mariner’s vs. A’s. The M’s were down 7. Law and Order. Apparently there was another murder. There was always another murder. Another grumble and she turned up the volume. Friends, Chandler laughing at his own most recent joke. Pearl earrings only $19.99. Who would buy pearls on an infomercial anyways?

It was time and the pan settled into the lower heat. It accepted willingly the thick cream as it streamed into it. The cream splashed slightly up the sides before sliding down into the base of the pan, small trails of it remained running down the rim. The simmering cream bubbled lightly and the pan held it with care.

He stirred the liquid as it reduced. The onions and pancetta smell dissipating under the heavy cream. Dipping his little pinky into the thickening liquid he lifted his finger to his tongue. Pepper. More pepper.

She landed on Sponge Bob. She wondered what a Crabby Patty tasted like. Would it be too soggy to eat because it was underwater?

Little pinky in the cream again. Taste. Lots more pepper. Reduce.

As cream swirled around the pan it came to a stop and simmered again. The pan needed more salt. It needed it and wanted it. It bubbled for it.

Middle finger. Taste. Definitely salt. Reduce.

The hidden black bottom settled down, and the thick cream sat warming.

It was ready. He knew it was ready and he let it sit a second longer, enjoying the sight of the reduced liquid. Imagining the cream sauce coating his mouth. Then he tipped in the cup of defrosted peas and stirred them into the cream.

Those Crabby Pattys were starting to look awfully good.

He spooned the ravioli from the boiling water into saucepan almost as an after thought. “It’s ready!” he called. He stirred the carb vessel throughout the cream and spooned it into deep pasta bowls.