I should go back a bit…I did see the the mustard pot dressing recipe and I DID make it before and it was extremely delicious and being I had even less Dijon this time than that I figured it would be even better…

here is the RECIPE for the dressing!

Back to the sardines.   so the dressing was made in the said mustard pot with a flourish, a shake and even some amazing dark amber wildflower honey that I so love.  Dressing made, greens washed and slightly seasoned with a little lemon pepper and sea salt and voila there go the leftover veggies.  The broccoli was so hopeful.  Down goes a splash of the dressing and plop there goes the oily and extra yummy looking olive oil sardines…I was so excited…oh and wait how about a few triscuits just because…I need some crunch.  I made an ice water gathered my lunch and went to sit back down and write my sex advice column that had suddenly came so clear as to what it would be about…I forked up a delightful bite, fish, lettuce, veg and that lovely mustard pot dressing…and there it goes down the hatch.  It was good…I was happy and went about eating but suddenly, and not entirely like Ripley discovering her first alien…I saw what looked like a worm.  I dropped my fork…my god…what was it?  It was white, pearly almost in the mid-afternoon sunlight filtering through my blinds..it was definitely a worm, but wait…was it?

I pushed my fork against it, did it move or was I losing my mind?  I could no longer be sure as my imagination had already taken flight and I knew I would not be able to eat the rest of the salad regardless of what it was…I pressed the fork down on the offending organism only to have it virtually melt under the pressure.  Sure I may have squashed it as if it were not a measly worm but possibly a demon from hell…but how did it just fall apart?  I looked around half expecting to see Steven King or the Crypt Keeper leering at me over the sofa.

It was just then that I found a second one and upon closer inspection realized that the offending worms were actually the spinal cords of the sardines…this did NOT make it any less horrendous and it was at this moment of clarity that i rushed to the kitchen and dumped the entire plate of food into the trash.  I should have just had tuna.

Seeing this may be the last year before the hole in the milky way rips completely open and swallow us, I would just like to say…thanks for the memories.  The food eaten, the music heard, the books read and most importantly…the lessons learned.

What’s that?  There is a hole in the milky way?

Well could someone tell the slightly hysterical library aide who told me this at 9:30 in the morning?  I was innocently, well as innocently as I ever do anything, shelving books like any good volunteer does while in library school when I ran into someone I was in class with…working at the library!  When asked when they would be done with school (a question you ask every person who is in grad school…repeatedly…because you always forget) I was told they would graduate in 2012, which just happened to be when the world would be ending.

I could only stand and stare, not at this persoen, but beyond them at the homeless man who was ransacking the dvd’s, the motley collection of cd’s and at the water spots on the ceiling…

“It’s always something,” was the best I could muster…

“Well, there’s a tear in the milky way and it will eventually rip wide open and swallow the universe as we know it…”

The homeless man was completely mixing “Meet Me in St. Louis,” with the collection of National Geographic documentaries…chaos reigns…Would the world end now?

I hadn’t even really had enough coffee to fully digest a tear in the milky way but there it was…

“well, just think,”  I said struggling to find an answer somewhere within the disarray of organization that is a library, finding none I could only add, “you’ll be doing what you love when the Armageddon hits, lucky you!”

Now why tell this story now on Dec 31st?  Who knows…perhaps its because the inane top10 lists that populate every cultural avenue and spread like plaque psoriasis have left me itchy for  a fresh start.  It is no surprise to me that Robyn’s Body Talk masterpiece has been on nearly every musical top 10 list that I have seen…I knew this was something special from the first moment I heard “Dancing on My Own,”

p.s. I’m putting everything in quotes because after finishing a piece of writing I feel absolutely entitled to break as many grammar rules as possible so lighten up.

I am not surprised that “Black Swan” is on the lists as one of the best movies either, I knew from the moment I saw the trailer that the movie would be amazing.  It amuses me that people don’t know and need a list to validate what choices they make during a year.

I also find it hilarious when people come to me, and they always do, and say “oh you know that movie, restaurant, shampoo, book, etc you told me about…it’s on so and so’s top 10 list!”

Great!

But darling this isn’t magic, I’m not psychic…well maybe a little…but honestly it’s simply that I listen to my instincts.  I don’t think we as a society listen to our guts, our instinct, our inner voices and maybe it is because the tear in the milky way is really a vacuum and has sucked our most primal sensitivities up into the night sky, if only to make us feel less when fire and brimstone comes raining down in2012…I have no idea!

So what will my resolutions be for the new year?  To love more, listen more, talk less, read more (if that’s possible) definitely write more (this is definitely possible) eat more, drink more, celebrate more, give more, indulge more, provoke more, dance more, exercise more…more more more..because kids who knows what the new year will bring?

Don’t save your favorite scent for some special occasion wear the hell out of it every day.  Break out the good dishes and for goodness sake if not for you, for me open that bottle of wine, champagne, what have you and drink it!  Drink it straight from the bottle and stuff a piece of Belgian in your mouth as well…this is not a dress rehearsal, and why that may be cliche it is true!  One time, one dance, one way, one journey…one one one…not 2…one…If you don’t know what to do with yourself and many of us don’t at one point or another do something for someone else…if you think you have nothing to give your wrong!  Don’t ask me to tell you what you have to give…you’ll figure it out.

I recently finished writing a piece that involved a sex scene with a loaded gun.  I found the danger and eroticism of this not only edgy and hot but also appropriate for the story.  I was stunned by the different reactions I got to it…some thought the gun shouldn’t be loaded…it smacked of terrorism and the Russian roulette of STD’s …others said the danger of a loaded gun was incredibly hot and erotic…I realized once rereading and rereading (which is what we writers do) that it really wasn’t a big deal whether the gun was loaded or not…it was the idea of the gun so I say this to say this…

Really reread your scripts this year, I know I will…you may find that what may have been a big deal to some may not be a big deal to you now…make sense?  Maybe not…it’s early and I’m only one cup of coffee in…draw from it what you will…

so as we move closer to 2012 and the tear in milky way may or may not destroy us all…I hope that 2011 is full of things for you to tear into, desires to indulge, food to eat, drinks to drink, new experiences to experience, kinks to iron out, books to read and songs to sing because this is life…and to quote  The World According to Garp by the fabulous John Irving, which I have been reading over the last year…”we are all terminal cases…”

Get over it and celebrate!

This made me think of traditional recipes that have been handed down through the generations.  There are several I make every year.  One in particular that always manages to bring comments and loving devotion from friends and family.  The aforementioned tidbit remained unnamed for many years.  I only recently named it after I caught someone stealing a tray of them from a holiday party I so graciously hosted!

Look, it’s very simple and if I tell you, you won’t believe it and if you make them (which I hope you do) people will NEVER believe what they are made of.  I don’t know how many times and there have been hundreds that my family has this recipe that someone does not say,”What is this?”  “What’s in it?”  This often leads to yelling and somewhere the phrase, “you’ve had it a million times, I’m not telling you again!”

The recipe is simple:

1lb of Jimmy Dean Sausage any kind will do

1 box of Velveeta Cheese (Paula used it in her cheese fudge balls and its good enough for me)

1 package of Hors d’oeuvre bread (you know the kind by the deli at the grocery store) its usually rye or pumpernickel.  I know you have inner resources and will figure it out…if not ask…

and when you ask be prepared for NO ONE in the store to know what the hell you are talking about…but trust me you will persevere.

Once home cook the sausage; break it up in a skillet and cook until done.  Then…and here comes the hard part…open the Velveeta and dump it in the cooked sausage!  You can drain the sausage but really that’s splitting hairs at this point.  You mix the sausage and cheese together until the cheese melts.  Please refrain from eating it at this point because it will be like molten lava!

I know you will do it anyway…

You then spoon this mixture onto the little magical breads that no one knows anything about and put them on a foil lined baking sheet and pop them in the oven until crispy.  I have been known to put them under the broiler to brown the cheese…do as you will.

Be warned that even when these burn…people will eat them.  The above mentioned thief found a tray I had burned and hidden and promptly ate almost all of them before I caught them.

When you serve them which you should do immediately people will ask whats in it…Now…please…be prepared for NO ONE to believe you when you say Velveeta and Jimmy Dean…accept this and move on.  The last time my aunt who somehow came up with this was asked by my grandfather, “what are these again?”  My aunt turned around and said, “I’m not telling you!”

This is after about 100 years of him having eaten and asked the same question.  I have witnessed this in my own life more than once so being as worldly and kind as I am I began calling them “sausage crostini’s” and have withdrawn any knowledge of where and whence they came.  I may begin to tell people that Frodo Baggins made them in Middle-Earth and he lent me the recipe.

So it is with hesitant and nervous hands that I turn this witchery over to you, be careful with it and tell no one that I told you.  No one would believe you anyway.

I recently finished a website and found the task to be enlightening and not unlike making crostinis.  Its easier then it looks and no one really believes you when its done and so what?   Is anything ever really done?  As I plow through a horrific and first edit of my second romance I begin to wonder if writing is not unlike cooking, unlike gardening and the profound lessons that are to be learned by what my mother would call, “the cruelest cut,”  in all things especially cooking, writing, and gardening it is glaringly apparent that the only way for anything to happen is to make the cruelest cut.

Don’t believe anyone when they say cutting doesn’t hurt…if they do they have never cut a bush down to its roots, a paragraph from a story or dumped a batter they mis-measured.  There is an ache at every cut but once it is done it is done and sometimes, if not always it is once that cut has been made that there is room for something new to grow.

The new year is almost upon us.  I hope everyone has written down something they hope for in the coming year.  Put something out into the universe and see what happens.   Once you have written it down light it on fire and throw the ashes into the air, who knows where your wish may land?

The new year is full of promise and a new and final season of Big Love…so you see already there is something to mourn.  The Closer will begin filming it’s final season and who knows what other deaths lie in 2011 but be brave and be willing to make “the cruelest cut” because unless its you who dies, you must continue moving, dreaming, completing, cooking, and believing!

I spent much of December indulging my endless curiosities and will leave it completely different than when I started and glad of it.  If my light was on before, it is shining even brighter now.  Curiosity may have killed the cat but better to have been curious then boring!

This isn’t a blog about relationships.  This is a blog about food and sex.  My anniversary involved both.  I’ll tell you about the food part.  As a surprise I was taken out to dinner to  Chaya Downtown a fabulous eatery that was blessedly quiet aside from the massive Asian Holiday party that made the opening scene in Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom look like a church on Sunday…but I digress

The service was great, there was some confusion over what type of water we wanted that involved conversations between everyone who was working the floor and after a Bombay martini I almost had to break it off, but that aside all went well.

I had  Valencia Paella…would I like to add a lobster tail?  Yes I would, thank you and goodnight.  We started with shrimp tempura sushi and finished with milk chocolate bread pudding and several Bombay Sapphire Martini’s.  Look, I didn’t make it this far being sober…why start now?  After all it’s my anniversary and I earned it!

I was then rewarded with gorgeous flowers (peonies), cards, Godiva’s and a fabulous book on my favorite vintage designer Vera.  People, if you are not getting truffles from the one you love, please do something about it.  I’ll even forgive if they are not Godiva’s or from Belgium, but please, please treat yourself.  I’m telling you that you’re worth it.

Frugality Fatigue is on the rise and let’s hold hands and promise not to ever be frugal again!  Well, at least not when it comes to chocolate.  Amen.  You see prayer can be good for you!

Look, I’d be unkind if I didn’t recommend that you see Black Swan or didnt read my article about it so I’m telling you, go go go see it!

Black Swan is a complex, twisted and eerily wonderful movie.  It is driven by a multitude of themes of which I could expound for days, but I won’t.  What I found remarkable about the experience of seeing the film was the crowd itself that was waiting to see it.  While waiting in line the name of the movie was uttered so many times that at one point I wasn’t sure if people weren’t using it as a mantra.

“Is this the line for Black Swan?”  Black Swan, Black Swan, Black Swan…it was as if we were all participating in some underground experience that should only be uttered in whispers.  Everyone knew that what we were about to experience was going to be fantastic.  I say all this to say this:  with such an intense movie such as Black Swan, why was it that for days before, maybe weeks before, the only thing I heard or read about was the kiss between Mila Kunis (wonderful) and Natalie Portman (sublime)?

Is a scene that involves two women kissing still a shocker?  Does anyone remember The Hunger starring Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve? You want a lesbian scene to talk about, let’s start there.  That movie came out in the 80’s and it is that scene that stands out to me as the best Lesbian scene in a movie.  It is tasteful, erotic, sensual and beautiful.  Now so many years later the internet is abuzz about Portman and Kunis as if we have never seen this before.  In a world where people are constantly claiming to be desensitized, how is it that this type of thing is still off the charts enough to generate so much buzz?  Especially in a movie as complex as Black Swan, how is it that what people are claiming is shocking is the love scene between the two women?  Without divulging to much, the said scene is erotic and well done and I will declare it very brave indeed for both women to participate in it but let me also say it was NOT the part of the movie that made me almost start clapping.

I won’t say anymore about it.  I’ve said enough.  Hit me up tho once you peep it and tell me what you think.

Oh by the way my dirty little romance is out and about and ready for the buying so be kind support an up and coming erotica writer!  Do your part to support erotic gay romance…you know you want to.  I also sold a second work that will be coming out for Valentine’s Day and have started working on a Cowboy themed story ( I know some of you are laughing) but what can I say?  I write what people want and am happy to be able to turn people on with my words.  One day I’ll return to my horror roots…or not.  Danielle Steele, Stephen King, it’s all semantics.

Speaking of Stephen King (and when really am I not) I came across one of his books called Under the Dome that seemed intriguing, has anyone read it?  It looked like it was about 10,000 pages.  Frankly, I’m not sure I can do it.  I finished The Scarlet Letter and have moved on to my other literary nemisis The World According to Garp.  I will finish it I will I will.  Both books are actually wonderful.  I love Garp, it’s just taking me forever to read it.  I am also firmly planted in the Arthurian saga The Mists of Avalon and really am to invested to jump ship at this point.

It seems I am destined to read epics right now and will do so with grace.  Even after all this said, is it not criminal to admit that I am still fantasizing about that luscious, horribly rich milk chocolate bread pudding?  A word to the wise…never admit you don’t like chocolate, it’s like admitting there is something wrong with you…and there is!

I’m never one to question inspiration.  As a writer with a temperamental muse, I grab at it when it arrives, like a favorite aunt at a miserable family gathering…I’m no fool and my aunts are pretty damn cool to boot.  So I did it.  I popped the lid of that thick, dark jam and with about as much class as a broke hooker I dug my fingers into it and smeared it all over the top of my Thanksgiving ham.  Let me pause for a moment and make this admission:

Yes I had a pet pig and most of the time I do refrain from eating pork, if only in her memory, but lately I have been loving ham…since I will most likely already be burning in hell, I figure this is a slight transgression worth some brimstone in the after life…or at least until Lent when I will undoubtedly give up the other white meat in honor of the only Catholic tradition this former altar boy still holds dear.

Now that that is out of the way let me continue on this path of porcine indulgence.  The ginger fig jam was met with raucous delisciousness on top of the glistening ham.  It was delightful and although this was certainly enough flavor to knock your socks off, I did not stop myself from splashing some ginger ale on the beast just for all the gluttons out there.  I told you I had been drinking…I did cintinue this bubbly indulgence into the next day when almost as recklessly I smeared some slices of ham with the jam and threw it under the broiler, practically kicking shut the oven with the verve of a 1960′s host.  I was not to be messed with, I knew what I was doing and knew it would be delicious, and it was.  the jam practically turned the ham into candy.  It was syrupy and dangerously hot.  I may have lost a layer of skin when my greedy fingers attempted a all to quick grasp at the lava like sizzling ham pieces.

But I digress.  I recently attended a Christmas Party where to my horror and delight a huge plate of ham was laid out like an offering to Dionysus, surrounded by any number of side dishes, sauces and even a vibrant red jello salad.  The ham stood out like, I admit I stared longingly at it, even when I was offered a sliver of juicy roast chicken it was really the ham I was thinking about.  There was some sort of gourmet mustard by its side.  I hoped it was spicy or even better, sweet and spicy.  The thing that really did it for me though was this ridiculously sweet and crunchy glaze, nay, crust that had somehow magically transformed the ham into something altogether different and lovely.  I found out later that it was a Honey Baked ham and may I say the glaze for which they are apparently famous, is definitely not hype.  I didn’t eat as much as might imagine and even as I write this I can completely draw the flavors of the mustard, (which was spicy) and the ham which was sweet.  I am going to Hell in a handbasket or a ham basket.

So how does this relate to the porkchops?  Well, sadly, as sometimes happens, I had to work!  I couldnt make the porckchops!  You cannot really imagine my sadness as I tenderly pulled the defrosted porckchops from their package and gently placed them into one of the fabulous Food Network containers I got for last Christmas and placed them with much misgiving just behind the eggnog.  I decided then and there, well maybe a few minutes later while driving through horrendous LA traffic that I would stay home tomorrow night and make dinner!  Do I stuff the chops?  I do have Stove Top…yes I know, but my better half is just that kind of dude and I must indulge him, painful as it is to eat Stove Top…NOT!  Or, do I break out the fig and ginger jam and just pan fry them, throw some of the stuff on top and hit them with the broiler for a few minutes right before serving?  There is MY DILEMMA.

I could also pound them out EVEN thinner dredge them in some flower then dip them in a little egg and finish them off in some seasoned breadcrumbs…hmmm…There are so many paths to choose from that it’s almost like a choose your own adventure, although I am pretty sure I won’t be turned into a Chimera at the end.  Although, how cool would that be?

I recently helped a crack hooker buy a vibrator and some batteries, no doubt she was working at the cheap hotel by my work…this exchange did nothing to deter me from my porckchop dilemma, although I certainly have regained a new appreciation for the depths of human vacancy.  I am surrounded by proverbial pigs.  Humans who wallow in the filth of the world and are simply existing for their own pleasure, present crack hooker excluded.  I find it funny to think that there is a subculture that identifies themselves as pigs when frankly, my pig, my real pig had more class, manners and dignity then many human pigs I know, and she smelled better.

So while you may believe you can’t put lipstick on a pig, believe me when I say, a fig ginger jam is an altogether better accessory.

So from my kitchen to yours, I send you…hookers, jams and pigs of all sorts.  It will be up to you, dear rearder to decide which pig is which.

The first thing I do is make something I found in an issue of Martha Stewart Living years ago.  If you hate her get over it.  Her recipes have never let me down and there are certain issues (mostly Thanksgiving and Christmas) that are as dear to me, if not more, than certain family members.  One Thanksgiving issue saw me through a 30+ person sit down that ended with me pouring a homemade stock down the sink by accident…At that point I closed the beloved tome and half screamed to a nearby Lesbian to go to the market and buy a jar of Heinz Brown and lets move on…

So the recipe is quite lovely and delicious, I believe it is called “Leftover Pie,” and actually quite ingenious and something not only family but friends and co-workers insist I make every year…so I do.

Butter a pie plate, casserole dish, what have you and layer in your leftover stuffing which will serve as a crust to your pie.  Then add some turkey, break out that carcass and get ripping folks, treat it like someone you hate and we’ll all get through this together.

Once you have the turkey down, add whatever veggies you may have leftover.  This year consisted of brussels sprouts and corn.  I don’t really want to write this but…leave the butternut squash puree out, but you already know that.

I then top this with left over gravy and then as a top to your pie add mashed potatoes.  I know you have a ton left over and they may possibly haunt you as much as that turkey carcass so here’s your chance to take control…add til your little hearts content.

Pop that baby in the oven and let it go until you see the gravy bubbling.  You can even toss it under the broiler for a few to crisp up the topping.  When its done, slam the left over cranberry sauce down on the table and get to work.

It’s a big delicious job…please be careful.

Oh did you make a ham as well?  You did?  Me to!  The ham bone is still in the fridge, you’ve made ham and eggs, you’ve made ham sandwiches, you’ve done it all…I hear you.  This does not include the ham casserole you made or the scalloped ham and potatoes either…I’m gonna share with you a secret…time to make split pea soup with that ham bone.

Don’t panic, it’s so easy it’s almost painful.  But like most things it’s worth the pain…so here is a link to a simple and possibly flawless pea soup:

http://www.food.com/recipe/split-pea-soup-best-pea-soup-ever-83287

So wonderful topped with croutons, sour cream or my favorite a little sherry…I am a split pea fan and may people aren’t…too bad for them.

Ok…Ham bone is gone, but that turkey is still there…Time for pot pie…excuse me while I drool. Pot pie be the most perfect food. In fact I’m often saying that if I fall unconscious, please for goodness sake, feed me potpie! Skip the mouth to mouth. here’s my favorite recipe, again so easy and delicious:

http://www.food.com/recipe/turkey-pot-pie-45070

I’m often told to make two pies as one is never enough…I have yet to indulge these demands. You however, may make as many as your hungry brood demands.

Dark meat needs love to: While making any of these dishes feel free to break off a turkey leg throw it on some foil and bake it. Let it get crispy and lovely and gosh darn it your even closer to being completely done with the turkey!

So here it is the final decree, the lament, the requiem of the turkey: Turkey Noodle Soup!

I have a confession: I’m terrified of making soup, stuffing and pie crust. Let me explain; stuffing is relatively simple but people are so attached to it that it practically begs disappointment. It’s the holy grail of T-Day and if you mess it up Hell will yawn before you. Luckily I have to mess it up but do I still occasionally here, “the stuffing is good, but do you remember the time you added dried apricots?

Soup is whole other ballgame. It is alchemy. I know alchemists and I know they would all agree that soup is alchemy. No, it’s not a sorcerer’s stone, but it might as well be. All these raw materials commune to create something else, the fundamental of alchemy is this, at least in my overly simplified explanation.

Again, I have yet to make a terrible soup. This year in particular I have made a spicy carrot and harissa soup, a vichyssoise that was delightful, a borscht to die for and the above mentioned split pea soup that is just back of the spoon licking good.

So why fear the brew? I have no idea to be honest, yes its the alchemy of it, but I’m also always worried it will be somehow flavorless. However, the more I do it, the more you get the idea that really there is no distinct way to ruin soup…

But I digress…
Turkey noodle soup to the rescue. People, this is in fact the best way to send the bird to bed. Granted, a scented, yummy bed but bed just the same, as I write this my house is filling with the aroma of turkey soup, my stock bubbles and I am already imagining the crusty bread that I will certainly eat with a big bowl of the stuff.

>Here’s the recipe I use:

http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,1639,146162-253193,00.html

So there you have it. It’s done it’s over, alls well that ends well, as a famous poet once said, “let be be finale of seem,” and I bid you farewell, my soup is calling.

I’m addicted to butternut squash.

Who knows when the addiction actually started…an addict forgets everything except the current fix, the anticipation, the desperate attempts at procuring the substance that makes their eyes roll back into their addled heads.  Perhaps it’s genetic.  Both my parents love it, my father even eats turnip…:( which I’ve never been a fan of but every Thanksgiving there it was and he was inevitably the ONLY one who ate it.  But next to that bowl of blah was the gorgeous butternut squash, the orange color practically knocking the turnip on its head in sheer color alone.

This makes me think of the upcoming movie Burlesque…if there is anyone out there who does NOT think Cher will knock Xtina off the table please reexamine your rhinestones and break out a copy of Dark Lady and think again.  I’m not saying Xtina IS a turnip…but…

Addicts often jump around, lose their train of thought and even use distraction techniques to sway one from looking at the real problem.

I just ate a bowl of butternut squash for breakfast. I am actually considering another helping.  I will resist if only to continue writing in sheer honor of self discipline and control.

I got two medium size squash in my CSA box last week and they sat staring out of my fridge for about a week before I could even consider cooking them.  Believe me there is nothing more I would rather do then stay home and roast vegetables all day but alas they sat and I let other menial things like LIFE get in the way.  That’s not to say that I did not look up recipes, how-to’s, and videos all week in anticipation of finally doing the deed.

Because I did.

There were videos on how to cut them, roast them, bake them, peel them and all were helpful as I am the type of cook that no matter how many times I do something I always feel the need to make sure I am doing it correctly, especially when it comes to cutting an odd shaped vegetable like butternut squash.

You cannot even begin to know how long it took me to actually break down and cut and prepare the huge, white pattypan squashes that haunted my CSA boxes all last summer.  I swear the squash actually stalked me! But that’s another story.

It was in the middle of a rather hectic day when I decided to roast the squash and whipped the dish together in a matter of seconds, I’m still not entirely sure a magic wand was not employed.

I split the squash with what I call my “Fatal Attraction” knife because every time I pick it up I am reminded of the final scene where Glenn Close is standing behind Anne Archer in the bathroom mirror.

I did NOT act out the scene with the doomed cucurbita moschata’s resting just next to the sink faucet.  But I did split them right down the middle and in a wild not entirely un-Glenn Close manner split them again so there were 8 wedges of squash when the massacre was over.  I’m not a fan of scooping out the guts of a squash.  I hate the smell of the inside of a pumpkin and even more the scraping sound of spoon against shell but us writer types are sensitive to that kind of thing and it has come up more then once in my writing.

I am fascinated by the act of reading fruits and vegetables for consumption.  I find something slightly erotic about pushing ones thumps through the pulpy depths of a papaya to remove the shining black seeds, the splitting of a peach, the wet thwack of a knife cutting through the tender flesh of a melon, even coring an apple has some sort of satisfaction to be had and is there anything sexier then the pomegranate?  I have NO doubt that it was this fruit and not the apple that was used by that serpent in the garden…who wouldn’t be tempted?

The squash is ready and I have wisely gathered my weapons of choice.  Cinnamon, nutmeg, butter are all ready and at the willing.  I spray a little cooking spray on the bottom of a heavy stoneware casserole dish and lay the 8 pieces next to one another and then it begins…

I believe you can tell if someone is a good lover by the way they eat.  I guess this could also be said to be true by the way one cooks.  I begin by rubbing each piece of squash generously with butter (Ok I admit I use a butter spread…Smart Balance.. but who can really afford to douse everything with butter? And frankly I like the taste.) I add an extra dab of spread to the shallow bowl part of the wedge just in case it needs extra love which it most certainly does!  I then pop open the cinnamon and sprinkle each piece with just enough to make the tender orange flesh take on an slightly mulatto appearance and then add the nutmeg with a gentle hand, a smidge on each just to cut through the sweet complex smoke of cinnamon.

Then I add the final ingredient…brown sugar.  Why not?  I know that when it melts and combines with the buttery spread, the cinnamon and nutmeg it is going to make an almost caramel like syrup that I will do everything except bath in and that is NOT completely out of the question either.  So on it goes..do this to taste.  I have faith in your abilities as kitchen alchemists to distinguish how sweet you like things and honestly I’m not sure you could really add too little or too much because you could certainly add more later if needed.

So the darlings are ready to meet the fiery depths of hell and being a completely unfair junky I commit the squash to hellfire with little more then a nod and a wink.  I bake them for about 20-25 minutes with a tent of foil over them at about 400 degrees (preheat your oven) and if at 20 minutes they are not fork tender leave them a little longer (cit side up please!)

I have thoughts of grandeur (oh I’ll make a soup, I’ll make ravioli) But the addict in me knows better.  I’ll eat them just as they are and scrape the candied goodness off the bottom of the dish with the edge of a spoon and douse the already sweet tender flesh with even more buttery sweet g.

The squash came out amazing, succulent, yummy, great, you fill in the appropriate adjective.  I barely wait until they are cool (if Im being honest I didnt wait but a minute) and I scoop the tender flesh from the now almost paper thin skin and did I add more butter?  Yes!  Did I scrape the aforementioned sweet caramel cinnamon scented goodies off the bottom of the dish and spoon it over the squash?  YES!

I admit it I have a problem.

And isn’t admitting your addictions half the battle?

Vitamin C, Fiber, Magnesium and Vitamin A are all inside so why not eat a bowl for breakfast? Lunch? Snack?

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I finally got it!

A passion came over me!

It happened as I throttled a bunch of kale into submission, as I wrestled a still unidentifiable mass of crimson hued greens into a pile (rough chop my ass) this was war!  The garlic (I used pre chopped.  Boo hiss, boo hiss)  hit the well oiled pan with an angry hiss as if  the Foodie Gods were channeling their disappointment through fragrant cloves.  Like I said this was not a moment to be worrying about redemption.  I turned away from the hissing and covered the angry outcry with a pile of greens torn asunder by knife and hand.  That silenced the nervy chorus.

Cooking is alchemy.  Magic.  Therapy.

I have made greens (dandelion, collard, spinach, chard, kale) many times.  I love them, my loved ones love them and frankly they are a breeze to make.  The same recipe applies to most.  Heat some olive oil, throw in some garlic heat until the garlic is golden toss in the greens with some salt and red pepper (add the red pepper as much as you can stand and possibly more) cook until wilted, stems tender (when I’m really in Love I pull the leaves from the stems) they always turn out fabulous and are magnificently delicious.

By the time the kale was wilted I had wisely eaten a multi grain bagel with peanut butter and wild honey (please eat natural peanut butter) oh and if someone can come up with a way to stir natural peanut butter without making a mess I’ll marry you, or do things your significant other won’t to show my undying admiration and Wild Honey, do I need to say more?  I’m sure I will dedicate and entire blog to honey in the future.

But I digress…

This vegetable passion ala mania…Passion, mania, potato, patato it may all be the same thing was brought on by tree cleaning, limited parking and a full driveway.  I was so irritated by the time I got into my house that I decided the to cook ALL the vegetables that arrived this week in my CSA box.  I believe saying a “passion overcame me” is better then admitting I may have slightly dipped into the aforementioned mania.  You decide.

However, it was during the frenzied chopping, wilting, eating, sauteing, and complete absorption in my task that I realized what I would blog about.  People have said write about what you know.  I know about food and sex.  I’m sorry to be blunt but its the truth.  I have worked in both fields often times simultaneously for over 15 years.  I loved both and often admit that my two deadly sins are indeed gluttony and lust.  An idea was born over organic greens.

I didn’t stop there.

As my mood lightened I reached for two small but plump aubergines, a long and slightly obscene zucchini and a tender little bok choy just for fun.  Stop me!  But why?  Someone, a fellow hedonist, once said “nothing succeeds like excess,”  words to live…and die by my friends!  Why stop with the greens?  I had the means to make fabulous fried aubergine, a quick rinse of the pan, a slight amateurish chop of the bok choy made quick delicious work of my singular friend.  At that moment I was visited by my loved who stood watching as I feverishly flicked the bok choy around the pan…I think I may have asked…

“What do I do with the zucchini?”

Reply:  Fry it

And why not?

Why the hell not?  I was going to fry the aubergines and hell whats good for the nightshade is good for the squash…and so I began.

Let me just say that when someone fries something for you…please love them.  No seriously, love the hell out of them.  It is NO easy task.  Next to chopping beets (don’t get me started on beets) it is a messy, tedious, dangerous thing…not unlike walking the plank.  Instead of watery depths its scalding oil that awaits.

Here’s how I do it, how my Grandmother did it and strike me now if every time the first piece of aubergine or chicken hits the oil that I am not suddenly transported back through time to Nancy’s Italian Kitchen.  Here’s where the magic comes in.  It is not uncommon to time travel while you cook.

I slice the aubergines and zucchini super thin (this works with chicken) Pour flour in a zip lock back drop whatever doomed food item you wish into the flour (yes season the flour I use salt and Italian Seasoning or whatever strikes my fancy; lemon pepper, cayenne, some weird spices brought back from a Turkish spice market, whatever)

Shake it.  Love it.  Live it.

Scramble a couple of eggs…I season them to, why not?  Salt and pepper. Dump the floury contents into a container (preferably with a lid) with egg and again shake, shake, shake

Look you can totally use a bowl and two plates but a passion is a passion and I allowed it to direct me to the ziplock bags and believe me this was a wiser and quicker decision.  After the eggs dump the golden coated goodness into the breadcrumbs, do another quick sake and then make way for the oil bath.  Gently (now is not the time to dump or begin to question your motives) one by one place the coated goodies into the hot oil and watch the alchemy happen.  What started as one thing quickly turns to another without much help from you.

I like everything crispy…almost burnt.  Make a big decision here and weigh the pros and cons of golden brown or coming over to the dark side.  This is a matter of taste.

With no surprise my lover returns just as the first batch is coming out of its magical bath (feigning the return of some household item) I only nod and say something cruel like…”you cant leave until you taste one”

Yes its hot.  Its almost sadistic to make someone eat scalding hot fried zucchini but I allow for some quick breathing (a half hearted attempt to cool what is close to hell fire down)

“It needs a little more salt”

I reply with a glorious sprinkling of the white stuff over the still sizzling plate of veggies and hand another piece over and smile when they say “perfect.”

A wise man, (my Father) once said when commenting on my career choices, “You picked two good fields to work in.  People will always need to eat, and they will always need to have sex (he used a different word, but dropping an F bomb in my first blog seems slightly crass.)

He was right.