Gnocchi With Pesto

*Recipe Follows Story

I’ve cooked multiple dinners for one male friend in particular. Handsome and thin, and in need of some meat on his super model physique.

When he sits at my table, it makes me happy. 

I randomly met Patrick through a friend, whose dog walker picked him up in the park.  Happiest accident of my life.  Upon our first meeting, he was seemingly quiet.  I went along with my girlfriend, on their doggie playdate, to make sure he wasn’t a creep.  It was sub-zero outside, and I was not yet a dog owner, but I knew it was something Su would do for me – so I went along for the ride.

Certified: a creep he was not.

The dogs played.  He barely said a word.  He didn’t try to inappropriately touch either of us, or the dogs.  I was probably more shady, in my trench coat and gloves, and I’m almost positive I said something crass because I always do.

At the end of the play date, we walked towards his van. 

On second thought, maybe he was shady.

All three of us, and two pitbulls, approached the side door of a pretty beat up dark van.  Patrick sauntered up to the side door and pulled it open.  Out of the van he pulled a box of Lindt truffles.  I remember seeing stacks of boxes marked LINDT, in the van.  He offered me chocolate.  He gave me a box of 500 truffles.  It was Christmas time, and he made me believe there really was a Santa.  A van full of good chocolate, this is the foundation good friendships are based on.

Certified: a creep he was not.

Su and Patrick continued on their doggie play dates, and Su would tell him stories of dinners I’d cook for her.  One cool September evening, we were at a friend’s birthday party having drinks, and he joked about getting an invite to dinner.  I gave him my number.  I said he was welcome anytime.

Months later, Su went to Argentina.  I got a dog.  And, for one month, he was stuck with me. 

It took us an entire year of random walks, with little to no talking, to really become friends.

Often times, this man writes too much and eats too little, and it concerns me.  I look at his face and see happiness mixed with emptiness, and I believe food heals. 

The first meal we ever shared was on his birthday.  I made him a birthday dinner. A pasta tasting of red sauce and pesto over gnocchi was served.  For dessert, my friend David, from the park, brought flan.  Our mutual friend, Su was also in attendance. 

To date, this was one of the most incredible evenings of my life.

The gnocchi looked so beautiful bathed in red and green. 

My tiny apartment was filled with laughing, intermittent silence, and conversations that ran deep. 

The meal hit home.  We ate in silence.  I stood up to plate seconds.  I sat down, took in the beauty in the three faces around my table, and deemed this meal to be one that stands out for tugging most at my heart.

David’s dessert was the cherry on top.  When he flipped his flan onto a plate, caramel spilled all over my table and onto my tiled floor.  I nearly had a heart attack.  Patrick looked my way, and I had to turn my head because I knew he would make me laugh.  I’m obsessive compulsive.  I discreetly got down on my hands and knees and breathed deeply.

This was the moment I knew Patrick and I would be friends forever.  He ate my food.  He enjoyed my food.  He understood my deep need for organization, control and cleanliness in a world that was lacking. 

All captured in a smirk.

I soon forgot about the spill when I tasted David’s flan, which would be impossible for me to ever recreate.  I have love in my heart, but David’s is a different kind of love.  You could taste the struggle and survival in his sweet contribution to this meal.

Our mouths were gaping and filled with flan.  David felt proud.

By evening’s end - bellies were full, and all four of us were better people because of shared moments and food.

For my birthday, Patrick wrote a story about this very night.  This story was the best gift anyone’s ever given me.  He described the night in such extraordinary detail, and does so better than I ever could. 

I had to recreate the scenario here – because this was our first meal together. 

Patrick’s Birthday Pesto

1/4 c. toasted walnuts
1/4 c. toasted pignolis
4 cloves of garlic
4 c. fresh basil leaves, packed
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. fresh black pepper
1 c. extra virgin olive oil
3/4 c. parmigiano

-Place the walnuts, pignolis, and garlic in a food processor and process for 30 seconds
-Add basil leaves, salt, and pepper
-With the processor running, pour the olive oil (slowly) through the feed tube and process until the pesto is thoroughly pureed
-Remove mixture from the processor and place in a bowl
-Add the parmigiano and incorporate well
-Serve, or store the pesto in the refrigerator or freezer