a moment in the day: gravy

The kitchen cutting board is stained green from chopped basil and scattered with the thin shavings of garlic skin. It's the night of the official publication day of David Ciminello's The Queen of Steeplechase Park, a book whose cover I designed and whose story I've known and loved for years, and to celebrate, I am cooking "Big Betty LoMonico's Tomato Gravy" from the recipe on page 15.

My phone is playing some 1930s music. I like to go overboard on things like this. The recipe, like all the recipes in the book, contains some tongue-in-cheek instructions you're not meant to follow. But when it came time to "Place canned tomatoes in a large bowl and use your hands to squash them until smashed real good. Preferably while singing 'My Blue Heaven,'" I momentarily stopped the music and jumped on Youtube to find the song and sing along, at least with the words I knew.

But right now, it's time to "Put olive oil in a big pot." I take a moment to think on the next instruction in the recipe. Do I or don't I? 

I put down the olive oil and grab my phone. A quick text to David:

Bella advocates for swigging from the olive oil. I like going all the way on these things. Is she being truthful or facetious?

Olive oil isn't bad.

a moment in the day: delizioso

The three little squares on my computer screen are Laura, David, and me, having a Zoom meeting to discuss the details of our book launch event at downtown Powell's on Wednesday in celebration of David's novel The Queen of Steeplechase Park. We've been trading potential questions to ask each other and chatting over the pieces he plans to read, brainstorming the best structure for the event—and I have to say, listening to Laura organize this whole thing is like taking a masterclass in how to be a good publisher. How to arrange everything to a T, how to make her author feel taken care of. 

Speaking of taken, now David says he needs to check on his cooking, and Laura and I are taken with him on a ride through his house: that funny Zoom view of a stationary figure with rooms slipping by behind. The kitchen is dark. He sets us on a table or a counter, and now all I see in David's square is a shadowy hump of head and back as he bends into the oven. Laura's square is full of grins. David's making chicken parmesan, in honor of Bella, the Italian chef and burlesque queen at the heart of his book. Food is the perfect way to celebrate Bella, and I have my own plan to celebrate by trying my hand at making "Big Betty LoMonico's Tomato Gravy" from the recipe on page 15.

David straightens from the oven.

I call out, "We want to see it!"

And so he opens the oven back up and presents it to the screen, all steam and bubbling cheese.

He puts the pan back in the oven, gives a few scant instructions to his husband who's somewhere just off screen, and then he's slipstreaming us back through the house and stationing us where we were before.

He thanks us for letting him make his kitchen interruption.

Laura laughs. "See? That's why small presses are the best. Penguin Random House wouldn't get to go into the kitchen with you to check on your chicken parm."