I am not a totalitarian, you probably aren't either, but there are
times when our leftist minds linger on a fleeting thought that fatally
undermines our morality. This thought is induced, as I'm sure you are
aware, by an errant sock.
Stories have been written to explain
the missing sock. Some claim that gnomes are responsible. Others
suggest that socks may have just fallen behind the dryer. These tales
answer the ontological question: Why is my sock missing?
I am
far more concerned with the political and ethical implications of this
conversation. Namely, how should one judge a sock that is missing its
partner. The school of thought, which I tend to follow in my daily
life, is one of tolerance. I throw the singular sock in with rest. One
big socky family. Beautiful.
The other school, says with fascist efficiency: "This sock is not normal, eliminate it."
Oddities and Obsessions
Oddities and Obsessions
Jiminy Cricket in My Kitchen
Does Jiminy Cricket sit on your shoulder? He sits on mine – always has. The first time I saw Pinocchio; he jumped right off the screen and onto my shoulder and has been there ever since. If he were simply my conscience, I would consider that a good thing, but he is not my conscience; he is my worst critic!
“You think that photograph is good? Are you an idiot with absolutely no taste? Print that and the world will laugh at you.”
“You prefer A Place in the Sun to Citizen Kane? Are you friggin’ out of your gourd? Tell anyone that and the world will laugh at you.”
“You are wearing what? That? Put that on and the world with laugh at you!”
It never stops. It is most embarrassing, however, when I fix dinner for company. I will get a compliment and before I can smile and say, “Thank you” I blurt out, “I put too much salt in the sauce, I over-browned the meat before I stewed it …” TMI provided by Jiminy.
So Many Cookbooks, So Little Time
Once upon a time, a long time ago, I decided to go on a liquid fast to lose weight. Needless to say, living on 400 calories a day of fake “milk shakes” is hell, but one strategy, which may sound counter-intuitive, was particularly helpful in getting me through 14 weeks of deprivation: I kept a stack of cookbooks next to the couch and another one by my bed. Reading recipes replaced eating recipes, and I lost a lot of weight. By the time I was ready to eat again, it turned out that I had replaced one addiction for another. My craving for cookbooks filled five shelves and then spilled onto the counters in my den.
Coupled with the many boxes of antiques scattered around the room, I kept expecting the camera crew from “Hoarders” to knock on my door. But what was I to do when I bought Susan Hermann Loomis’ “Farmhouse Cookbook” for its Best-Ever Chocolate Cake recipe, and then, five years later, her “French Farmhouse Cookbook” is released, with another chocolate cake recipe that says, “I thought I’d found the best-ever chocolate cake…but just when you think you’ve tasted the best there is, something better comes along”? Naturally, I had to buy that one, too. Eventually, it dawned on me that even if I made a new recipe every day for the rest of my life, I still couldn’t make all the ones I wanted to try in my 250+ cookbooks.
The Care and Feeding of a Shellfishaholic
Hi, I'm Dave and I'm a shellfishaholic. My wife wants me to stop
writing about shellfish because they aren't everyone's cup of tea. But
I can't resist the temptation. When we were in Boston recently, the one
restaurant I had to visit was the Union Oyster House.
While Michael and Michelle rested at the hotel, I snuck away and
happily indulged in a dozen oysters and a bowl of clam chowder.
Today
at the Santa Monica Farmers' Market, Carlsbad Aquafarm had fresh
oysters, clams, mussels, and live abalone. I wanted to buy everything.
I showed some restraint. I only bought the oysters and clams.
A
nice thing about shellfish is they keep in the refrigerator for several
days as long as you follow a couple of suggestions. Oysters need to be
stacked in a bowl with the rounded part of the shell down, so the
oyster sits in its own liquid. Clams will drown if they're submerged in
water. Save a plastic basket
that comes with strawberries. Cut it in half, put it on the bottom of a
bowl and the clams on top. That will keep the clams above any water
they spit out while they're waiting in the refrigerator.
Pasta Once a Day
Last year at this time I wrote about eating pasta twice a day every day we were in Umbria. It seemed impossible to think about a lunch or dinner without beginning it with a bowl of spaghetti, ravioli, gnocchi or strangozzi.
Well, we’re here again, thank god, but I’ve cut my caloric intake in half. Well, I don’t know if that’s exactly true — but the intent is there.
My lunch — every day — is made expressly for me by Jill, my newly-inspired kitchen magician on her Italian-version Nutribullet. Yes, every day she brings me a large glass filled with the extractions of various raw vegetables, fruits and nuts. She’s gotten very creative, adding fresh ginger one time, red pepper another, mint a third. It’s a health-conscious festival!
And for dinner, I’m Hoovering in the pasta just like in the old days. The first night we went, as we always do on the first night, to the Palazzaccio, where I had their spaghetti alla benedettina, which is in a wonderfully subtle tomato and fresh bay laurel sauce.
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