Page 29 of Tying Little Tay (Littles of Rawhide Ranch #13)

Tay

Tay didn’t have time to wonder what Guilia was up to—they had food to make.

They’d gotten up early and headed down to the kitchen before anyone else, so that they could prep a ton of fresh pasta in advance, and then focus on the ice cream all afternoon.

Pasta was always better, made fresh on the day, but prepping it and popping it in the fridge for later was a perfectly acceptable way to work.

When Tay had arrived at Rawhide, there’d been a pasta-making machine, that you popped ingredients into, and then pressed buttons for the correct shapes to come out. Tay could think of nothing worse.

There was something very calming about the process of making pasta, and it started with the dough.

Flour, egg, and Tay liked to add a pinch of salt and just a drop or two of olive oil.

It made the resulting dough easier to work with.

It wasn’t quick work though, making enough dough for a whole restaurant full of diners.

First you had to mix all the ingredients together, and then knead it until it had the right kind of elasticity. Then into the fridge for an hour.

There were bowls and bowls of dough, sitting there.

It was a little bit like proofing bread dough, only the results were distinctly more Italian.

But Tay didn’t relax while the pasta dough rested.

They were very proud of the range of options they provided for the restaurant’s menu—favorites like spaghetti Bolognese (made with lamb, as Tay’s personal twist) and mac and cheese were always available. But Tay had helped shape the menu with other additions.

Stellina en brodo was the comfort dish on the menu. Tiny star-shaped pasta pieces in a rich, soothing chicken broth, topped with plenty of parmigiano. That was what they suggested when people had colds or were feeling under the weather, and it was the perfect dish to cheer them up.

Pasta alla gricia was their personal favorite of the non-filled pasta dishes.

One of the famous four dishes of Rome, where Tay had studied, it had the simplest of ingredients: guanciale, pecorino and black pepper.

That was it, but the flavor blew people’s minds.

Tay attributed that to the guanciale, an ingredient that they’d had to spend a fair amount of time sourcing to be delivered to the Ranch.

But now they had their regular supplier, everyone in the kitchen had started using it (aside from Hannah, of course—cured pork cheek hardly made for a good addition to desserts).

And then the filled pastas. Tay might have spent that first year studying in Rome, but later they’d moved up to the Emilia-Romagna and fallen in love with all the different ways you could fill pasta.

Cappelletti—the parcels shaped like tiny hats—were particularly popular amongst the Littles, who giggled and pretended to wear them when their Bigs weren’t looking.

But there was also tortelli d’erbe (filled with ricotta and spinach), and a ravioli di carne recipe that had been handed down through generations.

The recipe for the ravioli had been pressed into their palm by a cheerful woman who said her nonna would have loved Tay’s cooking. It was intense—you had to spend three days slow cooking the beef before you used it to fill the pasta—and it was this that Tay was working on now.

They always had the sugo for the filling prepped, but each bowl of sugo was labeled day by day. A fresh batch needed to be made each day, just to keep up with demand.

First, soffritto. Diced garlic, onion, carrots and celery, fried off in olive oil until fragrant, and then the beef added, with red wine and cooked right down. The aroma infused the whole kitchen and Tay felt alive.

Learning to cook pasta in Italy had changed their life.

It had shown them how simple ingredients could be transformed with care and patience, and they were good at it as well, which had been a surprise.

Tay wasn’t exactly known for their patience, but for some reason their brain had made pasta a hyperfocus that their ADHD never moved on from, which meant that they loved cooking it now as much as they had six years ago.

But also the people had changed their life too.

Slowly, but surely, they’d explored their gender expression, keeping it slightly on the downlow due to the conservatism in some parts of Italy.

And no matter how conservative the country, all of the friends they’d made their had accepted them when they came out.

Unlike their family.

Perhaps that was why they didn’t feel comfortable saying that they deserved the world.

Because their family hadn’t thought that they deserved consideration or respect or even kindness.

Finding Rawhide had been a lifesaver, but it hadn’t eradicated all the trauma of coming out in a space that hadn’t been the safest.

And Tay was lucky.

They’d gotten out quickly, and their family’s disdain had never transformed into physical anger. Tay knew of enough stories where that was not the case. They’d left without a mark on their skin, but sorrow in their soul.

They stirred the pot one more time, and put it on the back burner, low.

Time to make some pasta.