Fettuccini

Starsky tries to cook something new.

“Do I have to?”

For some reason, this question seemed to be asked a lot by Hutch. Starsky frowned.

“Yes, you have to.”

“But why?”

“Because I want to try cooking something different from steak for my date on Friday and I need a guinea pig.”

“Guinea pigs are herbivores so does that mean you’ll be doing a salad,” Hutch asked hopefully.

“Nope. Tonight 8 o’clock. Be there and be hungry.”

Hutch sighed but didn’t protest again as he climbed out of the car. Watching Starsky drive away in a cloud of smoke, Hutch wondered if he could fake the onset of a sudden illness.

*****

With huge trepidation, Hutch walked through the door of Starsky’s apartment. The smell that tickled his nose was actually quite pleasant and he grew more hopeful. He could see his partner busy in the kitchen.

“Good. Perfect timing,” Starsky said over his shoulder.

Hutch walked through and placed a bottle of red wine on the table. He reached for the corkscrew and opened the wine so it could breathe.

“Smells okay,” he observed.

“Don’t sound so surprised!”

Hutch shrugged. “Going on experience.”

“Make yourself useful and get the bread rolls out,” Starsky ordered.

Hutch put the rolls to cool and poured out some wine while Starsky did something to the pasta. A moment later, two large plates of fettuccini appeared on the table.

“Chicken al Starsky,” Starsky announced.

Cautiously, Hutch tried a mouthful. He gave Starsky a thumbs-up and Starsky smiled with relief.

*****

Much later, Hutch leaned back on the sofa with a sigh and patted his stomach.

“That was good, Gordo, but one thought.”

“Yes?”

“Smaller portions or else your date won’t be able to move, let alone dance or…whatever.”

Starsky nodded. “Good thinking, Blintz. I definitely want to get to the whatever!”