(Lasagna Eaters)
Two nights in the city, the second spent making veggie lasagna with my friends. I have another dish that I can predictably make well. That makes two now. Roast chicken and lasagna, maybe there's another that I've forgotten. Oh yeah, there is also coq au vin. Maybe Sunday I'll make a lamb stew. At least there is something beyond steaks and chicken on the grille now.
My friends and I sat at the kitchen table and did what was always do - talk. Changes are underway. They have both recently left their jobs at the same veterinarian's office, within a day of one another, almost by chance. There has been some weirdness and it is time for them to go, so off they went. I offered legal counsel to the one whose situation seemed more perilous. I crafted a single sentence designed to force fear into the heart of his tormenters, but he is far too nice a guy to take my legal advice. I was, of course, prepared to litigate over this hostile office weirdness that has left my client impotent and balding.
At one point in the evening I remember showing him what a single normal, healthy testicle looks like, so that he would have a comparison with which to better understand his own cursed and wretched testicular affliction.
That's all I remember, and that the lasagna came out well. I am no longer stricken with the crippling fear of vegetables that I once was. They are easy and fun to cook with, especially the mushrooms, which I guess are a fungi and not strictly vegetables, but with the spinach they were quite good.
So, lasagna can be made without sweet Italian sausage and ground beef, and even without ricotta cheese, which came as both a shock and a lie to my old buddy, Abraham (pictured above). He insisted that lasagna can not be made without ricotta. His withering teste is drawing much of his life energy from his capacity for culinary imagination. He doesn't want the world to change any more than it already has.
Okay, I would write more but the morning now demands breakfast of us. We will go make bacon and eggs and crumpets with juice. Today begins our weekend, which is often marked with a celebration of fried animal fats.
Written in fire, sung in flame.
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