“Ramen again?” I typed, followed by the classic “lol.”
“Yep, ramen again.” he replied, “BRB.”
I had just met Mike a couple of days ago, and still got a rush of fluttering every time I thought about our first kiss. And then a flush of warmth on my face, because I remember how I embarrassingly tripped on a garden hose in the front yard, just as I was leaning into said kiss.
I found him on MySpace. He too was a new Californian, having just moved from NY, so I decided to message him and strike up a conversation. Little did I know, we’d be talking almost every night after that, until the wee hours of the morning on AIM.
He didn’t quite have a job yet, so he was reduced to eating the $0.20 packets of ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We’ve already discussed my grilled cheese syndrome, so I was highly sympathetic to his situation. I thought it’d be nice if I cooked him dinner one night.
I chose a classic: fettuccine alfredo with chicken, thinking it was economical enough that I could make a massive amount of it and he could store it in his fridge, and eat it for the next few days.
So we went to the store, gathered up the ingredients, and I went to work in the kitchen. Somehow, the idea of dying the sauce came about. “Let’s dye it blue!” I said. “It’ll look like Smurf guts.” Mike replied, laughing. But he was all for it.
“Dig in!” I said, while handing him a bowl of the noodly concoction. As we started eating, I was carefully winding only a couple of strands around my fork, I kept telling myself: “Don’t spill it. Don’t spill it. Don’t spill it.” I’m notoriously clumsy, and was still really uncomfortable eating around Mike. One false move, and I’d look like a Smurf murder scene all down the front of my shirt.
A few minutes into eating, I start thinking, “He’s not saying anything. Does he hate it?” Something must be wrong, because he wasn’t saying a word. He wasn’t even looking up from his bowl. “Is he just trying to be polite?” I wondered.
At that moment, his roommate walked in, greeted us, and then raised his eyebrow at the bowls of blue goo we were consuming. “What IS that?” he asked. Mike looked at me and smiled, then replied “It’s Smurf guts.”
His bowl was empty, he’d eaten every last bite.
We’ve been together ever since (four years now). He’s an eternal optimist, and I, a pessimist. He’s a cat person, and I love dogs. He uses a Mac, and I insist on PCs. But in the end, we couldn’t be more perfect for each other, because at night, he’s the big spoon, and I’m the little spoon. <3
My favorite recipe for fettuccine alfredo is from Cooks Illustrated. It’s simple, to the point, and tasty. So here is their recipe, copied in it’s entirety.
I wanted to use the original picture for this post. Yeah, it’s shitty quality AND used the flash (gasp!) because this picture is over four years old and before I even began caring about food photography. But to me, it’s still just as beautiful.