You're the Aglio to My Olio

When I went off North for College, I quickly discovered this cliche they were bandying about: Southerners flirt for fun, not action. I can’t even begin to unpack how many ways this stereotype was wrong and offensive and won’t even try. But I’m already digressing.

What I wanted to lead with with simply this: I’ve never had a penchant or talent for “lines,” code word from my youth for pick-up prolegomena. But if I did — which I don’t mind you — the one in this title brings a smile to my face.

I’m not talking about the oil and garlic concoction I think I overcooked for my kids when they were young, the garlic turning to a crispy burn that I once thought spot on (hence the reason, they shy away from this dish even to this day). No, I’m talking about a golden hue of thinly-sliced fresh garlic beautifully prepared in olive oil before being tossed with homemade fettucine.

I’d call it a marriage made in heaven, if I believed in marriage or in heaven or culinary masterpieces prepared somewhere else than a pedestrian soul food kitchen. Nevertheless. We play so much with forcing together all kinds of exotic combinations these days, in a never-ending quest to “discover” that singular dish we can call our own. It’s not that I’m opposed to such creativity. On the contrary. I love it. But let’s not lose sight of the standard pairings that really do make beautiful music together.

I really am sliding into my dotage with that last thought, not to mention literary phrasing. Whatever. The essential point is this: garlic and olive oil work. Finito.