Page 59 of That Birthday in Barbados
My gaze hangs on his wide shoulders until he disappears through the doors leading outside. I open cabinets until I find the box containing the pasta noodles. It’s a good one. Harry Cipriani. If Anders has garlic and olive oil, I’m in business.
I find the oil, also a nice Italian one. I grab a shaker of pink sea salt while I’m at it. In the refrigerator, I spot a glass jar of minced garlic. A blender occupies a corner of the countertop. I’ve made the pesto so many times, the recipe is committed to memory. I find measuring spoons and scoop out the garlic and drop it into the blender. I add the olive oil, a half cup or so. I then add the salt.
I search around until I locate a large pot, set it in the sink and fill it halfway with water. I then put it on the stove and turn on the heat.
Anders appears with the basil. Its aroma arrives before he does, and I remember how much I love the smell of it fresh from the garden. “My mom used to grow basil in pots in the summer,” I say. “It smells so good.”
“It does,” he agrees. “I love herbs. I keep them growing and use them for cooking and salads. They’re highly nutritious. I count them among the nine vegetables I try to eat every day.”
“Nine, huh? That’s a lot of vegetables.”
“It is. I used to hate eating vegetables.”
“What changed your mind?” I ask, rinsing the basil under the sink faucet.
He considers my question to the point that I am curious.
When he finally answers, his voice is almost too deliberately casual. “I decided one dayI had to figure out what a body needs to stay healthy. I read this book by Dr. Terry Wahls. She basically cured herself of MS by completely changing the way she ate. Nine cups of vegetables per day.”
“Wow.”
“It sounds like a lot. I’m used to it now. I juice pretty much every morning. That makes a big dent in my daily quota.”
“What do you juice?”
“You name it. Carrots. Broccoli. Kale. Celery. Apples. Oranges. Dandelion greens.”
“Hard core,” I say, smiling.
He laughs a soft laugh. “I guess so.” He sobers a little. “I’ve come to understand the power of food to give our bodies the ability to fight off things we don’t want. I didn’t used to eat like this though.”
Something in the admission makes me want to ask more because there seems to be more beneath the surface I’m missing. I shrug it off and say, “I could be a lot better about what I eat. I actually love salads. Iget lazy at night after work and usually opt for something easier.”
“I’ve come up with some shortcuts that make it a little easier.”
“Such as?” I drop the basil into the blender, add a half teaspoon of the sea salt.
“I chop vegetables, a lot at once, and store them in a big glass bowl in the fridge. For a single meal, I can take out whatever I want, make a good dressing with my herbs and some olive oil, and I’m set.”
“I’m impressed,” I say. “I need to do better. In fact, I will do better.”
He laughs. “Would you like a glass of wine? I’ve got a good red.”
“I would love one,” I say. While he’s opening the bottle, I turn on the blender and pureé my ingredients into a pesto that smells like an Italian restaurant when I remove the lid.
Anders leans in and inhales. “That smells incredible. You weren’t kidding about the cooking skills.”
“You haven’t sampled the final product yet,” I say. “You might want to hold up on the praise.”
He hands me a glass of wine, and I take a sip. “Um. Very good.”
“A Chateauneuf du Pape. One of my favorites.”
“Love it. Several years ago, I attended a trade show in Paris. I decided to take a few days to explore some of the French countryside and ended up touring a couple of vineyards in this region. It means the Pope’s new castle.”
“That’s cool. Did a pope live there at one time?”
“In the thirteen hundreds, the current pope relocated to Avignon and loved the Burgundy wines and helped them to become much more widely known. Before that, they had been mostly drunk by locals.”
