Maybe asparagus isn't the demure darling I made her out to be.A text earlier in the week alerted me that Master had picked up a bundle of asparagus during his shopping rounds. Ah. Not content with my rhapsodic praise, still smarting from being upstaged by carrots and crustaceans, the statuesque jade diva now demanded star billing. And I was forced to oblige. That effectively scuttled my plans, tentative as ever, for Wednesday night's menu.
How best to placate Spring's prima donna? Shower her with presents! Drape her in satiny saffron-infused cream. Festoon her with pine nuts, parsley, Parmigiano-Reggiano and petite peas, shallots melted in butter, batons of baby zucchini, cubes of imported ham. Set her high atop a platform of premium tagliatelle, and let her sing her heart out.
And sing she did. After a quick, invigorating bath in boiling salted water, she belted, trilling her triumph in clear, pullulating notes. Her grand adornments, flaunted proudly, only drew attention to her brilliance. The pasta fawned at her feet.
It was Master shouting "brava!" and "encore!" throughout the meal. I took the bow.
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