Cocky Chef(31)

There's nobody in there now, it being so early in the morning, and once we're standing among the polished metal appliances and clean surfaces, I turn to Chloe-who stands wide-eyed with awe at all the gleaming tools and professional fixtures-and clap my hands, the closest I can get to creating a sense of excitement. 

"So you've settled on a pasta dish for the competition, yes?" She nods. "Let's cook some pasta, then. Have you figured out what kind you'd like to use?"

Without missing a beat, she says, "Ravioli."

"Ravioli?"

"Yep," she says, assured. "I even know what I want to stuff it with. Something cheesy … hmm. And mushrooms, maybe. Like the ones we got at the farmers' market."

I nod, feeling a little swelling of pride at her growing confidence.

"You ever made your own ravioli before?" I ask.

Chloe looks at me a little uncertainly.

"Kinda? I usually just use lasagna sheets."

"Well then you're missing out on half the fun, and on top of that, pasta out of a box can't hold a candle to the kind you make from scratch. Quick: Pick a color," I say. "Green, red, black … "

"Red," Chloe says, responding quickly.

"Good choice," I say, moving to the vegetable stores to find beets.

Over the next hour or so we work up a dough, mixing in the puréed beets so that it turns a luxurious purple-red. Though I'm not as good as Willow when it comes to pulling silly faces, the magic of the pasta machine entrances Chloe-the same way it entranced me the first time I used one-and we bond over the careful process of flattening out the red dough until it resembles a thin velvet curtain. Chloe takes the task of keeping the counter well floured as seriously as a monk's prayers, and though I'm a little nervous those tiny hands are going to make a mess of the chore, Chloe exhibits a precision and skill that kinda shocks me.

"What are we going to do about the filling?" she asks. "It needs to be the best, so we can't afford to slack off."

I laugh, feeling in a good mood. This is the second time I've been compelled by somebody else, and just like the last time, I'm kinda enjoying it. "What do you want?"

"I have some ideas. What do you got to work with?"

I laugh again.

"Let's see," I say, moving toward the industrial fridge. "Time for a crash course in ingredient combination, I think."

For a while I work through a number of ingredients with Chloe-many of which she never seems to have tried before. Mascarpone, gorgonzola, chèvre; butternut squash, truffles; various fresh herbs and spices. I'm impressed both by her adventurous spirit in trying different mixtures, and her honesty in calling out the ones that don't work together. I can think of a dozen chefs I've worked with that had less persistence and invention than this nine-year-old.

"So?" I ask, standing up from the counter we've filled with bowls of various cheeses, ingredients and chopped vegetables. "What's it gonna be?"

Chloe peruses the selection with the severe seriousness of a critic one more time, then points at a bowl.

"That one."

"And what is that one?"

"Taglio-"

"Taleggio," I correct.

"Taleggio, rosemary, and I want to do roasted carrots with lemon."

"Changed your mind about the citrus, did you? I thought it wasn't your speed."

She blushes. "I worked with it some more and it turned out to be a good contrast for the herbs-it keeps them from tasting too heavy. But still … " she trails off, screwing up her face as she muses. "It needs something else."

I look down at the ingredients, thinking for a few seconds.

"You ever had a brown butter sauce?" I ask.

"Yes!" Chloe says, brightening up as she points a triumphant finger at me. "That's it!"


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"Let's do it, then," I say, feeling like I'm getting into it as much as she is.

Once we're done separating the milk, mixing in a little chopped sage as well, we move back to the pasta and I show Chloe how to cut it into the frilled squares of ravioli, though immediately Chloe shakes her head.

"No," she says.

"What? These are perfect."

"No," Chloe repeats, a little more adamantly. "I want to cut it into different shapes."

"You can't cut it into different shapes," I say. "I mean sure, maybe that's good enough for a novelty restaurant, but if you want to be a serious cook then you cut ravioli the right way. You'll risk it bursting right open if you try anything too complicated, or you might end up with some pieces where there's too much dough and it cooks unevenly."