Rotorglow

I had a few days off this past week, and with the extra time I made some meat-positive pasta sauce and ended up impressing even myself. So, herewith, a sauce "recipe" that sprang from my incompetent head:

Fry 4 slices of thick bacon--I said BACON! Can I get a AMEN?--in a large pot (yes, pot). Crispiness of the bacon is up to you. Remove bacon and set aside; do not drain the pot!

In the undrained pot, saute 3 yellow onions, diced, and as much garlic as you can stand to chop. I think I stopped at 5 largeish cloves. Depending on how far you went with the bacon, you may need to add a splash of olive oil to keep things sliding around nicely.

While that's happening, separately brown and drain 1 lb ground beef, and 3 hot Italian sausages (crumbled, with the casing removed). Chop up the bacon, but not too finely.

When the onions are about to brown (or even after they've gone over a bit) add beef, sausage, chopped bacon and two largeish cans of strained tomatos. I used a couple 26 ounce boxes of Pomi sauce because I had 'em handy.

Add pepper, oregano, basil, and rosemary to taste (I didn't use salt, but I bet a lot of people would add that too) and simmer for as long as you can. If your pot is as lamely thin-walled as mine is, (A) I'd be amazed and (B) you'll have to keep the heat low and stir often, or else you'll get a thickly charred crust at the bottom.

Serve over the pasta of your choice. Enjoy lingering bacon/onion smoke in hair, clothes and air for the next couple days.

Improvements? If I'd remembered that I had to buy a green pepper, I would have chopped that up and thrown it in, along with some more sauce, and maybe a can of diced tomatoes. And I would have fried an extra slice of bacon for snacking. But it's pretty tough to improve.

And for God's sake, don't microwave the leftovers....

For dinner tonight, I went to Cambridge One with three goals in mind. Pizza (and breadsticks), definitely. I was also thinking of trying to read a book I've been trying to get through, or (least likely) see if I could get onto the wireless network at the Starbucks next door. This last is something I've been meaning to try for a long time, the idea being that it'd be swell to watch some football at the bar and do a little of the 'net surfing.

There were three seats left at the far (kitchen) end of the bar, so I took one, leaving two (together!--I am nothing if not considerate) available, ordered a beer and a pizza (half No. 2) and started reading. At length, and before the pizza arrived, the couple to my left departed, leaving 2 seats. Immediately after that, a trio showed up: one guy in a Pan Mass Challenge hat, a woman (non-descript), and a thin, shabby fellow with a ridiculous chin.

The first two took the available seats, and the shabby chap asked me in a comically squeaky voice to move down a seat because they "[were] three." Wordlessly, I did so (again with the being considerate) , shfting my salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, plate, napkin, fork, knife, beer glass, breadsticks, book, briefcase and self down one more seat toward the kitchen. A shrill, yet oddly unenthusiastic "thank you" followed from the down-at-heel dude.

As I settled in at my new spot, hemmed in my the newspaper they leave on the counter and the other accoutrements that are usually associated with the business-end of a bar, my new neighbor leaned his elbow and upper arm on the bar, cupped his mangy pate in his hand and commenced to talking with his associates. He slouched and slithered, hurriedly drinking his ice water between sentences.

For my part, i think I probably did some staring. But then turned toward the now-preferable goings-on in the kitchen and server station, and tried to read.

My pizza came, and I started eating. Even before I knew what was going to happen next, I was aware of taking my time. I love that place, and I love teh pizza. And though I could go every week (or more often), I don't. So it's still kind of an experience to relish.

Then the pizzas were delivered to the people next to me, and I caught an accidental elbow in the shoulder from my new friend as he pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to his armpits, in advance of picking up his cutlery. This done, he set upon his pizza with gusto, dicing it into pieces, and then skewering several onto his fork at a time. A distant whine, like a jet engine being started, rose up from the counter, and I realized I was hearing the Tasmanian Devil turn redwoods into sawdust. Bits of crisp pizza crust were flying everywhere, and the unliquefied portion of the pizza slid further and further off his plate as he attacked the other end.

Never you mind that the only thing true about those last two sentences is the bit about the pizza sliding halfway off the plate as it awaited devouring.

To my right, something caught fire on the stove, and there was the clatter-CLANK of bussed dishes. Ahead of me rose bleached and chlorinated steam from the dishwasher. On the flat panel TVs, country-strong Jim Thome called his shot by pointing his bat to the outfield, and Serena Williams' breasts and earrings played tennis with Amelie Mauresmo (and still lost in 3 sets, even though they outnumbered Mauresmo 4 to 1).

And thus, with a slouching human garbage-disposal to my left, and a dishpan to my right, did I savor my dinner.

So, let's do a little catching up:

NYC: trip down sucked. Time there was great. Trip back was fast and dry (but fie on the inattentive motherfucker who tapped my bumper at a stoplight with his Tundra). But, you know, it's all about being thankful, and it was splendid to see my family. My grandfather still amazes, telling a variety of stories about the old days when you had to circulate engine oil by hand or else the engine would seize, which was a bad state of affairs if you were on a motorcycle: the bike would stop suddenly, and send you flying over the handlebars. And a kooky French car which burned a quart of oil per tank of gas.

He amazes in all sorts of ways, but these were the funny stories this time around.

I'm toting a new ax. I got a new camera from my parents for my birthday, which they presented to me when we were in NYC. I'm working hard on getting the hang of it. It's actually proving tricky, but that might just be because I'm over-thinking things and treating it like a film camera. Which is easy to do, because I can use all my old Nikon glass on it, and it feels like a Nikon SLR (duh). But practice makes perfect, goodness knows. So I'll just have to keep going.

Sunday was spent recovering, washing the car and shooting some pix of that crazy pooch Rocky, as posted earlier.

And now it's back to the land of dreams. I was remembering the other day how the "ennui" category on this blog came about, when my friend Kate was telling me about post-marathon (or double-century) ennui. And I remember thinking, That's it! And added the category.

Great story, huh?

I'm going to a Christmas party on Saturday, and I've decided I'll be wearing a costume (of sorts). Now I just need to find the supplies. (And no, sadly it has nothing to do with Black Flag.)

But that's a long way off (it feels like). Saturday is so rarely "tomorrow."