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pici 1

THE ENNUI OF SEMOLINA

You should make pasta because at some point, we’re all going to die. One way or another, late or early, peacefully or unexpectedly we all end up at the same end. And in the endless stumble forward it’s easy to gloss over the details. To treat the important things like speed bumps. To lose the trees for the forest and ...

soup 1

TWICE THE SOUP YOU NEED

Make some soup. It’s cold outside. Make some soup. It’ll teach you patience. Make some soup. You’ll be more human at the end of it. Make some soup. You’ll begin to understand time. And appreciate it. Make some soup. And turn bones and water into nourishment. Make some soup. And freeze the rest for a ...

gnocchi cu

IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

So it’s the holidays. And as much fun as it may be to act like a snarky assholish curmudgeon, the truth is I love this time of year. I love Christmas. You get to not work. You get to be with family. You get all the good free shit that you’re usually too cheap to buy for yourself. Little kids running around adds a ...

guanciale 2

HIGH ON THE HOG, JOWL LEVEL IF WE’RE BEING PRECISE

So The Month of Cooking Dangerously could now be more accurately called The Season of Cooking Irritably. My fucker of a kitchen still isn’t done. Granted, to the casual observer it is done. Functionally it’s done. But the last few nagging details have lingered on and on like a stale fart in the place where I should be ...

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THRIVING ON NEGLECT

I believe there are a few great points of clarity in a man’s life. Awakenings that make all of the days’ variables fall neatly into clicking patterns, creating a feeling less like drowning in bullshit and more like living in a neatly organized solar system of bullshit. Everything in its place, even the floating turd ...

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INDIAN SUMMER DINNER

Traveling on the road always brings me several pangs of guilt. The ideas of being an absent husband, an absent father, a bloated, gluttonous hotel room lout after too many days of self medicating with restaurant meals and an overly free hand with the mini-bar scotch… They all come together in a sort of dull toxic swirl ...

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SUNDAY MORNING

This morning, sometime after Sesame Street, I’ll ask The Wolf if she wants to go to the garden. She will stand up, leave whatever we’re currently busy with, grab her favorite tomato bowl and head for the door. We step out, time expands, the early morning humidity sets in as we pick fruit, water herbs, kill leaf footed ...