Love Novice (Completed) Season 1 In Ben and Am's Romance

Chapter 57: Ricotta

Eight months ago. That's when I last set foot into the storage unit where I locked up the family heirlooms, photo albums, alongside Nonna's and Dad's stuff after I cleared Dad's apartment. The small windowless container on subbasement three is full of dusty stacks of boxes. I might need an archeologist to find what I'm after. An hour later I'm still digging, and I thought sitting on my butt researching for my thesis was hard work. I spent over a year reading, writing, re-writing. More time than it takes for a woman to carry a baby to term. Submitting my thesis was a click, but the heaviest one of my life. Pages of the last copy I printed out still sit on my desk. I'm both tired and elated that I don't need to touch them. I've had enough mental work for this year. I want different words. Words I can transform into delicious food.. A wooden crate labeled 'Stuff' is the last one I unearth. It contains what I was looking for: a recipe for Nonna's mouthwatering Ricotta Pie. Without the thesis to consume my days and nights, I'm free to enjoy what I love. Food and Ben.

My latest paycheck is almost gone, but I have enough to buy the ingredients. Ben's apartment has the supplies I require. Today I'm in charge of the recipe with Ben as my sous-chef.

"Are we making it from scratch then?" asks Ben.

"You bet."

"Sounds like you are a convert."

"I am, but I've always been a from scratch kinda gal when it came to ricotta. Nonna used it in lasagna, ziti, manicotti, cannelloni, on toast, on pancakes, in salads." I pronounce the names of all the foods with my Italian accent. "There was no question in her mind that ricotta went well with everything. Bonissimo!" I kiss the top of my fingers pinched together to imitate Nonna. "She made it herself every week, and I remember being surprised not everyone did that. Why buy it at the store if it takes less than an hour and three ingredients to make: whole milk, salt, and lemon juice."

Ben's living room is no longer spotless. I don't know how he tolerates my messes. Today there's a good reason for it. The crate I brought from storage is empty, and an array of items litters the floor. This is better than Christmas. Ben picks up the scuffed wooden box with Nonna's recipes and flips through them.

"This is like a treasure chest of Italian food."

"If you can figure them out. Lots of three pinches of baking soda and a dash of liquor for measurements." I open one of the yellowing folders with loose menus from her restaurant. I don't need to close my eyes to remember them on the white and red checkerboard tablecloths or in patrons' hands. I pick up a stack of spiral-bound journals cluttered with notes. "Here, try these." I pass them to Ben. "This is where all the secrets are hidden." We switch. He takes the journals, and I get the recipe box.

"If you leave them here, I'll scan them for you, so you can keep the original ones safe."

"I should've thought of that. Thanks."

"See here." Ben points onto one of the pages in Nonna's journals. "It is the tomatoes she used. The San Marzano Tomatoes is the secret," he says.

Ben's been on the quest to make a pizza I'll fall in love with ever since the first game night when I told him his pizza wasn't great. He tried different recipes and even started making the dough, which improved the final product, to Mike and my delight. But there's always been something not quite right, and the pizza never satisfied me.

"Look forward to your next pizza iteration." I flip through more cards. "Aha! Ricotta Pie." I show it to Ben.

"There's no Thanksgiving in Italy. Why did she make Ricotta Pie for it?"

"It's not an Italian thing. It's a Nonna thing. If I would've asked what she would have picked for her last meal, it would've been Ricotta Pie. It's a traditional Easter dessert,but after a couple of decades in the US, Nonna started serving it on Thanksgiving. She said that if Thanksgiving desserts were all about pie, then Ricotta Pie should be front and center." We get to cooking.

Ben puts the pie into the oven and sets the timer while I spread the creamy fresh curds on toasted baguette slices, drizzle honey on some and put salt and pepper on others. "Voilà."

"Can I try it now?" His arm moves toward my perfect childhood breakfast.

"I have a better idea." I pick up the piece with salt and pepper and lift it to his mouth. My cheeks are hotter than what cooking in the kitchen would explain. Ben sinks his teeth into the bread with a satisfying crunch. I take a bite next and watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows it. "Delicious, right?" I lick a crumb off my finger.

Ben's eyes follow my tongue.He bends and nips my bottom lip. "Just like you."

I place the ricotta sandwichon the counter, let my hands bunch Ben's T-shirt, and find his tongue withmine. He tastes salty and like home. Tasing food with Ben, on Ben, through Benis becoming an obsession. He wraps his hands around me and sets me on thecounter. We taste each other, and I'm in love with the flavors in my life.