late-night pasta

Numerous & jovial gatherings have taken place here recently, a trend that will fast turn into the norm. Now that the back wing is finished and the dining room is in a ready state, we herd in the people pretty regularly.

I love using the new space. Quickly, the stomping grounds are established.

Within a few social visits, it has become clear that the loft is where the kids end up. One corner is stocked with leggos, matchbox cars, and assorted sturdy toys. The other end has #1 Son's groovy danish table, which has been used for Scrabble and, --might I mention --poker. The spiral staircase beckons the younger set irresistibly, with one of the perks being that curious kids can surreptitiously eavesdrop on the grown-ups lounging in front of the wood stove down below.

Last evening we hosted a Puglia Italian Fest; Puglia being the last name of a young-ish friend who makes a good & authentic pot 'o sauce. We came together after our Monday evening classes at church for a fashionably late dinner. There were over a dozen of us, all of which were hungry.
We arrived home to the homey scent of wine-tinged sauce simmering on the burner and freshly-grated peccorino romano cheese. Within minutes, the water was boiling for pasta and the garlic bread was toasting in the oven.

While the raucous girlies claimed the loft, the rest of the crew with tomato-stained chins manned the candle-lit dining room table for seconds, thirds, and impassioned conversation. Time slowed and the candles guttered while we wiped bowls clean with garlic bread crusts.

I love evenings like these, which actually took minimal planning, not one single formal invitation, and turned into a tasty memory.