Days are beginning to blur together. It seems I'm existing with a single focus, stumbling through the week, only 6 days between me and another Sunday dinner with Nick and Natasha.
While Natasha is both Polish and Italian, one side really does outweigh the other. She was raised in a very Italian household, her brothers big, sweet galoots and her Dad a quiet, homemade-wine-swilling contractor. She and her sisters are the requisite fast-talking, brassy broads. A sitcom could write itself within those walls.
Tonight she made us a pretty traditional Italian meal: antipasto of arugula and ricotta wrapped in prosciutto, olives, slices of bufala mozzarella, and sun dried red peppers. She followed it with steamed rapini and the best lasagna I've ever had in my life.
Layers of ground beef and veal sausage, her own tomato sauce, crumbled hard boiled eggs throughout. Béchamel sauce and everything: She cuts no corners. With dollops of ricotta sinking into the bubbling crust, it was moist and perfectly crisp, a corner piece on everyone's agenda.