SOS - Battle of the Lasagna

I skipped last week's collective bath hosted by Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe's . I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the flexibility they give us. Aren't they awesome? So go to their sites today to read their and other sudsy tales.

Here is another one of mine....

My mom has a recipe for lasagna from the North End. This is where Anthony ran through the neighborhood for Wednesday's Prince Spaghetti Day. The recipe came to her from a woman named Kathy Romeo (pronounced Row-meh-ohh, not as in Juliet's boyfriend). If I recall correctly, both Kathy's parents and in-laws were Italian immigrants who lived in the North End. The recipe involved making the sauce from scratch. I made it in high school and it tasted wonderful.

Fast forward a few years, to 1992. I'm out of college, living in an amazing city, working a job that is attempting to make the world a better place. I met a guy who proposed to me within months of meeting each other. When I said I needed to wait, he gave me a "promise ring" and told me he would wait until I said yes. The ionic column ring is on my right hand ring finger as I type this 15 years later.

My parents came to visit me in New Orleans for the first time about 8 months after I had moved there and 3 months after I met this amazing guy. Their first night in town my housemates and I invited a slew of friends, including amazing guy (AG), to join us for dinner to meet my parents. All of them were people who helped me survive teaching in a blighted inner city school and it was important for me to have them all meet my folks. I decided to make the lasagna that I grew up on.

"I'll make a lasagna too" said AG.

"Mine will be better. It's from the North End" I bragged.

He said nothing.

The night before my parents arrived I worked in the kitchen, making the sauce from scratch, prepping everything so all I had to do was bake it the next afternoon before everyone arrived. It smelled wonderful.

The next afternoon, 30 minutes before everyone was to arrive, AG shows up with brown grocery bags full of lasagna pasta, makings of white sauce and shrimp.

"That is going to be your lasagna?" I snorted as mine was bubbling in the oven.

He said nothing as he started to chop, mix spices and cook the shrimp.

An hour later there were two pans next to each other on the dinning room table. The one holding the white sauce and shrimp lasagna was empty as my mother was forlornly looking at the pan. My North End masterpiece had one slice taken out. One. Eaten by my dad.

Everyone, including my mother, raved about the white sauce and shrimp lasagna. Everyone, including my mother, asked for the recipe.

"I made it up" smiles AG.

In the ensuing 15 years we've been together I have not cooked a significant meal. It would be pointless.

But when amazing guy does cook, it is amazing.