Bacon Wrapped Water Chestnuts
(hors-d’oeuvre)


2 cans whole water chestnuts
2 packages sliced bacon (preferably from Trader Joe’s)
1 bottle barbecue sauce
Toothpicks
Two glasses good red wine

Drain the water chestnuts. Cut the bacon strips in half crosswise. Wrap each water chestnut in a piece of bacon and run a toothpick through it to keep it in place. Put the wrapped water chestnuts in a pyrex casserole dish with the toothpicks pointing up. Bake in a 375° oven until the bacon is light brown, removing grease periodically with a turkey baster. Drink one glass of wine. Add barbecue sauce to the casserole dish and return to the oven until heated through. Serve. Drink the other glass of wine.

Why do people work so hard to save themselves work? Why is simplicity so complicated?

How time flies. I'll have to give an agonizing account the grilled fish tacos that I made on Superbowl Sunday while untold thousands of annoying, self-serving Oakland fans got disappointed. (I refer only to the fairweather Oakland fans who live here, which is not Oakland)

two weeks and one day of unemployment; less than I expected.

I have quit my job. It is a remarkably liberating experience. To avoid any lawsuits arising from my vitriolic attitude toward my former job, I will merely describe my ex-employer as an enormous coffee chain with green aprons. Very corporate, very politically correct. Amazingly bad for one's self esteem.
I think I like this whole "not working" thing. I have to get a job now, though. Perhaps something less demeaning and frivolous.

When you make red pasta sauce, you must have patience. Those without patience must pay money or make friends to get good food.
A deep cast iron pot is the required tool. Heat up the olive oil. Add a chopped yellow onion. Stir it with a wooden spoon. BY NO MEANS should you attempt this without a glass of decent chianti or barbera in your free hand. The heat should be moderate. Smash garlic cloves with the flat of your knife. Get rid of the peels. Smash them flat; smear this resultant carnage and mince it to extract maximum power. Put it in the pot. Stir it. Drink.
Music should be playing--- perhaps the solo piano works of Enrique Granados.
Add an entire, intestine-like spiral of italian sausage (preferably purchased at a small, cramped italian deli), and cover the pot. Mince some large green olives (a handful). Add them. Drink. Add a couple of glassfuls of Pinot Grigio to the pot. Crush a generous spoonful of fennel seeds with a mortar and pestle and add that too. Add two cans of whole plum tomatoes. Yes, whole. They'll disintegrate on their own. Stir it, keep it gently bubbling, and drink. Add some coarse kosher salt, perhaps a couple of teaspoons. DON'T USE that idodized table salt. It tastes like aluminum foil. Add some cayenne pepper. Add a generous splash of balsamic vinegar. Add a wad of brown sugar. Add the zest and juice of one orange. When the sausage has firmed up, grab it with some tongs and snip in into bite size bits with your kitchen shears, right over the pot. Put a big pot of salted water on the heat. Keep stirring the sauce. It should be getting thicker (bear in mind that you should be at least 45 minutes and two or three glasses into this experience).
The patient, deliberate experience of making this sauce is a cleansing, rock-garden sculpting type thing. If you're in a hurry, have a tv dinner. The longer and slower it simmers, the more it reduces and integrates. More flavor, better flavor. A meal more anticipated is a meal more enjoyed.
Boil the pasta (farfalle, fusilli bucati, or oricchette) until al dente. Adjust the seasonings. If you've made your pasta from scratch, then you understand the cryptic Zen aspect of this. You should have some wine still around the house to have with dinner. Bread is good. If you've made all this food for yourself (which I've done many times), good. If you have people milling around the kitchen, drinking, talking and salivating, good.
Now eat it.