A/N: Thanks so much to Gaben and Whereintheworld for being fab betas! This was an airplane fic – as in I wrote it on an airplane. And the sauce (a simple tomato sauce is often called Pomodoro); look in the April issue of Bon Appetit; I stole it lock, stock and freaking barrel. I only wish my mother could cook like Mrs G and Mama Flack. Jsmudge, Peckk, Wolfeylady, Aschatria, and Runner043: you guys make my day! As for Firefly: Extra Cargo I'm working on it; but, it is really hard (I'm discovering) to conclude a story. But, soon. I swear it'll be done.
CSI: NY CSI: NY CSI: NY CSI: NY
Don walked into his small apartment; it was a relief after days like this to come home to his apartment. It might be small, a third story walk-up; but, it was his. Someone was usually cooking so the hall often smelled really good. Except when Jenny Farrell down on two tried to cook, she was newlywed and trying to impress her brand new husband which meant she burned something at least once a week.
Don clicked the TV onto the game and loosened his tie. It was Wednesday, that meant that old Mrs. Giangrosso would be over in an hour. She always stopped over on Wednesday's. He wasn't sure why; but, the company was nice. Changing out of his suit he thought about what was in the cabinet and fridge. A six pack of beer, some cereal, a couple jars of mom's canned tomatoes, pasta, an onion, and a jar of that really nice pre-minced garlic. Yeah, that was pretty much it. So a pasta night it was going to be. He put his gun away with his badge. No need to freak people out; plus, it kept it safe.
Mal (it was short for Malcolm) down at the precinct would be happy tomorrow, his team was winning. Don noticed as he changed into an old pair of gym shorts and a faded t-shirt from the precinct. It didn't have too many holes in it. Mrs. G always gave him crap about wearing t-shirts with holes in them. Heading into the closet that was his kitchen Don grabbed the onion out of the fridge and minced it letting the olive oil heat up in the pan at the same time. Letting the onion soften in the pan he checked his messages; someone trying to sell him new windows and Danny calling to remind him about the basketball game this weekend.
Walking back into the kitchen Don gave the onions a stir and added a spoon of minced garlic to the onions. Ma would pooh-pooh using the jarred pre-minced garlic, but, it was so much easier than having to chop garlic every time he wanted just a little. Plus, it didn't go bad or leave those little pieces of skin all over the fridge. Mmm… The smell of onions and garlic on the stove brought back memories of childhood. Good memories.
He turned and reached into spice drawer, grabbed the crushed red pepper and put a good pinch of it into the onions and turned the heat just a bit. Chelsea had been really impressed last weekend when she'd come over before the benefit he'd escorted her too. Well, she'd been impressed with the fact he had herbs and spices however she hadn't been so impressed with the walk up three flights of stairs.
Commercial break; Don changed the channel to ESPN and grabbed the jar of canned crushed tomatoes his mom had given him last summer. Opening the jar he dumped it into the pan, added a bay leaf and breathed deeply as the smell of the pan completely changed. Yep this brought back memories. Every summer as a kid he, Patty, Sammy, Gio, and whoever else was around got Shanghaied into helping Ma and Mrs. Tattaglioni with canning tomatoes and making tomato sauce. Between the two of them they would put up two or three hundred jars of tomatoes. If their gardens didn't have enough, they'd go buy bushels down at the farmer's market. They'd get the seconds; the ones that the vendors couldn't sell to the Gramercy Park yuppies. And then they'd make him, Patty, Sammy, and Gio cut out the bad spots, and blanch them to get rid of the skins.
Letting the pot simmer he grabbed his single big pot and filled it with water for pasta. Grabbing the salt from the cabinet and the box of angel hair at the same time, Don made a mental note to add pasta to his shopping list. This was his last box, although he did have a lot of Raman. The water would start boiling in about fifteen minutes just enough time to see if there was anything exciting in the mail. The new issue of Maxim was in; that was always good for a few minutes. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, yep needed to add beer to the grocery list too, and sat down closing his eyes for a second. Just a second.
Bang, bang, bang. Don's eyes snapped open. He looked at the clock; nope the water shouldn't be boiling yet. He reached for his gun. Bang, bang, bang. It was put away. Bang, bang, bang. The disorientation of snapping awake left him as he realized it was the door.
"Hello Mrs. G." Don smiled as he opened the door to the tiny old lady with the magenta cane. She barely came up to his chest.
"Donnie." She nodded. "Good, you cleaned up." She patted his arm; such nice strong arms he had. Like my Tito had. "I brought you biscotti; I made some for Sofia at the old folks home."
"Come in Mrs. G; have a seat." Even after living here for almost six months it still kind of weirded him out that Mrs G. came to see him every Wednesday night. "Umm… would you like a beer?" He didn't have any wine; and it was really too late for coffee. And if he didn't offer her something Ma would come down and kick his ass!
"I'm making pasta pomodoro, would you like a bowl." Don asked as he went to check the water and stir the sauce one last time. He turned the heat off on the sauce, and added a handful of salt to the water. Nonna always said a handful of salt was good for the pasta; gave it some meat on its ribs.
"You using that bottled stuff?" Senta Giangrosso asked suspiciously sniffing the air. She jiggled her cane; "I'd love a beer. My kids don't buy me any when they do my shopping. I tell them I'm just fine to do my own shopping."
"No Ma'am. I made the sauce. Ma put up the tomatoes last summer." He picked up the canning jar from the sink to show his neighbor as he twisted the top of the bottle and opened the cabinet to get a glass for her beer.
"Donnie, I don't need a glass. Me an' Tito never used glasses." She took the beer and took a big sip watching the boy move surprisingly competently around the small kitchen. He scooped out a cup of the pasta water, grabbed a skillet, and a colander. "So many of you kids these days take silly shortcuts," she lectured.
"Shortcuts?" Don melted some butter in the skillet, drained the pasta, dumped it into the skillet added the sauce and cooked the pasta for another minute.
"Bottled sauce." Senta shuffled to the living room and sat in the comfy chair; her damn hip was bothering her again. "It takes 20 minutes to make good sauce; but, no everyone wants it faster."
Don slurped a noodle up; just right and it had the sheen. The sheen that only butter could give noodles. Using the long tongs ma had given him years ago he twirled the pasta into two bowls. Looks like I'm not having pasta for lunch tomorrow. Oh, well. "Do you want cheese?"
"Of course boy. Pasta pomodoro without cheese?" Senta humphed. "No cheese; what do you think I am one of those skinny little super model types you like to date?"
Don chuckled; Mrs. G was actually thinner than most models; she looked like a good wind would blow her away. "No ma'am. Just checking."
Bringing a bowl with a fork in it Don set up a TV table in the front of his favorite chair for Mrs. G and went and got himself a bowl. Don could hear the first slurp of pasta the old lady took.
"Good pasta. Boy, you do good." Dinner with him was one of the highlights of her week; not that she'd tell him that. "You'll make a good husband someday."
"Ummm… Thanks." He set up his own bowl and slurped up a forkful. Mrs G was old school, she didn't use a spoon to eat pasta like some people. Kinda like his ma. "Did you see your story today?"
"Yes, I saw General Hospital." She took a careful sip of beer; ice cold beer was a wonderful thing. Maybe Donnie would buy her some when he went shopping. His fridge was pretty empty he needed to go soon. "It was a good day. Sex, drugs, and babies. Do you do a lot of narcotics? Jason and Sam are going to try for a baby? And when you go grocery shopping, can you get me some beer? I like your beer!"
Luckily Don was used to the rapid fire topic changing way that Mrs. G talked. Sam and Jason were characters; he'd seen them on her show the last time he'd been in the hospital. Not that he would tell anyone that he watched General Hospital. "Narcotics?" he paused, that one caught him a little off guard; but, he quickly pieced it together as he took a bite of the silky angel hair. "Nope, I'm a homicide detective. Like, on Law and Order."
"Oooh, I like that Lenny Briscoe." Mrs. G wagged her eyebrows as she slurped up a mouthful of pasta. The boy can cook. "He's a hotty. There's supposed to be a murder tomorrow. I like the babies better. Blood is really hard to get out of clothes; ammonia works on most stuff. Shampoo sometimes works; or salt; but, ammonia is best."
"Uh huh." Don just nodded and slurped his pasta; not too much you could say to that. Ammonia; hmmm… He'd never tried that one on his shirts. "You don't like that new detective they have?"
"Fontaine; no. He's too greasy, looks like one of them mobbed up guys; not a detective. He's not a… a… Stud-muffin! A Stud-muffin like you and that Lenny Briscoe." Senta was really proud of herself; she remembered stud-muffin; the word her grand-daughter had used to describe some baby, Jonas or something. He was twelve!
Donnie just about choked on his beer. A stud-muffin. "Mrs. G, a stud-muffin? Really."
She waved her fork at him. "Now you're just fishing for compliments. Plus, you got good suits. You still going up to Marco?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Don shook his head. Mrs. G, she could always brighten the conversation it made his week! "Your Marco is good."
Senta just nodded her head and slurped the last forkful of glossy red coated noodles out of the bowl. Marco, her sister's son's wife's brother – he was a really good tailor.
Don forked up another fork of noodles as he looked over at the television which had been playing mostly forgotten in the background. At the slurping sound that Mrs. G was making he looked over to see if she needed another beer and his eyes went wide; she'd just eaten half a box of angel hair! He looked down at his bowl. He hadn't even gotten half-way through his pasta. And there was a little more in the pan – because he'd given her the larger bowl of pasta accidently. "Do you want some more pasta? There's a little more in the pan."
Senta looked down at her bowl. "Mmmm…" She really shouldn't; but, it was so good. She looked up at the tall detective; it would be taking food from the mouth of a babe; he needed it much more than she did.
He saw the pursing of her lips and got up and filled her bowl with the rest of the pasta in the pan. "Eat."
Chortling a little. "You sound just like my daughter, Lucy when she talks to her kids." She pitched her voice higher and waggled her finger. "Eat. Eat. It's good for you."
Don chuckled; his mom had used the same finger wave and tone of voice. "Ma, said the exact same thing. Especially on spinach night. None of us liked spinach."
Senta's only response was a slurp. She forked up another mouthful of noodles. The last slurp of noodles. Don watched wide-eyed, for a little tiny woman Mrs. G sure could eat a lot.
"You do good young un." She nodded; jerking her head to point at the now empty bowl.
"Thanks." Don finished his bowl of pasta keeping one eye on the TV. The scores were rolling across it. He stood up and grabbed his bowl, fork, and empty beer bottle reached across and grabbed Mrs G's empty stuff. Taking the three steps into the kitchen he put the bottles into the recycling container, and the dishes in the sink. He dumped the stopper into the drain and filled the sink with water, adding a squirt of soap. It would have been really nice if this place had a dishwasher; but, the rent was right. And he got a discount because he was a cop. Don tossed the pan into the sink and went to check on Mrs G. He started because she was standing in the doorway staring at the sink shaking her head.
"You'll make a good husband. I knew my Tito would be a good husband when he washed the dishes." Senta pointed her pretty new cane at Don and kept on. "I gotta go; my little Lucy will be calling soon. I think she feels I have no life or something. Bah."
Don watched Senta Giangrosso leave his apartment and shook his head. They didn't make women like that anymore. She was pure old country.