Our sullen model, the Husband, is wearing
a red Lacoste t shirt
faded blue Levis
a slim Citizen with a white face that looks like paper. It’s very zen, and was a wedding gift from my parents
an almost-smile, because it shows off his jawline
I love how bright he’s looking here, despite every effort to be otherwise. We’re lunching at The Big Chill, and he’s ordered himself some Spaghetti Puttanesca, ‘Whore’s Pasta’ (puttanesca is Italian for prostitute)- because the famous whores of Rome would hurriedly whip themselves up this easy, flavourful dish between um, engagements- to fill their bellies and ready themselves for more um, exertions. The tomato and the garlic burst inside your mouth, and the eggplant (if there is any) rounds off the tartness nicely. We also had capers in ours (a special request) because they’re basically tiny balls of intense flavour, and I love them. We had a Greek salad to help alleviate our starchy guilt, and then let it all go to hell and tucked into a mud pie oozing chocolate. I love The Big Chill and their faux-Italian offerings; when in Dilli, cook as the Dilliwallahs eat, right?