The pasta sits in front of us, steaming and… slightly misshapen. Alright, Alright, Alright. It looks like toddler's art project. The tomato basil sauce that is supposed to have a silky texture is more of a chunky messs instead. But hey, we made it. Together. And no one has lost a finger. That feels like a win to me.
Jasper sits back in his chair, grinning as he looks at the plate. "Well, it's not Michelin-star-worthy, but it has got character."
"Character?" I repeat, and arch an eyebrow. "That is just a fancy way of saying it looks terrible."
"It doesn’t look terrible," he says, taking a fork in his hand. "It looks... authentic. Like something you would see on a food blog where they promise you a ‘no-fail recipe,’ but they secretly know you will fail."
This makes me laugh and for a
