No Pasta Tonight
I don't mind coming home to dinner already cooking. Actually, I love it. And yes, I still put on my apron. There's always a chance something I'm eating will miss my mouth entirely and roll right into my lap and onto the floor. It happens all the time.
'Something smells good.' I said.
'No pasta tonight', he said.
It was about 5:35 p.m. and I had just walked through the door and the smell was lovely. Something was frying. You know the smell I'm talking about. It's the kind of smell that saturates the air. The kind of smell that hits you in the face if you haven't been in the kitchen and your nostrils are a clean slate. The kind of smell that lingers long after the meal.
Organic pork, purchased from the Giant in Dundalk on Sunday would be appearing on my plate in just minutes. Pounded out and breaded with egg and a homemade blend of cracker crumbs, parm, salt, pepper and parsley. What a treat.
(A break from pasta is a good thing every now and then – That's what my inner monologue tells me, anyway.)
The pork was paired with some leftover frozen peas sautéed with white onion and a mixed greens salad topped with cucumbers, onion and farmers market tomato. Some green olives and fresh cows milk cheese flown in from Italy (literally flown in three days ago) and toasted slices from an Italian boule also purchased at the farmers market helped to round things out.
We wiped our plates clean, drank every last drop of wine and commenced with cracking open some peanuts before we cleaned up and made coffee.
Tonight we have to make use of a pile of tiny eggplant we bought at the farmers market on Sunday. Such a deep purple, shiny and unblemished. Living farm to table is delicious.