- Teeny, on the prospect of a bigger cooking budget: “For this? THIS is the only way to make it. That’s it. I would have gotten some extra wine to drink with it.”
Peroni in one hand, skillet handle in the other, Teeny drizzles olive oil over the warmed pan. The zukes, cut like tiny emerald half-medallions, sizzle when they drop.
Teeny lets a holy force guide her through the cooking process, it seems. “I don’t count, I just eye it.” Her fingers wrap around a wine bottleneck—a dry white variety from her fridge—letting a hearty splash bloom a cloud of wine fog.