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You’d think this would have been the first post. Whenever I cook red sauce, I always envisioned it being so poetic to write about, and the process in which I go thru to make it. It’s nothing special I guess, or maybe it is. Maybe it’s been so long since I made it that I have forgotten how magical it really is. But this clearly can’t be the case because I know that I still find the whole process magical… just not in the David Blane sense either.

Becky and I went to the store to get the ingredients. She had plans of her own, she was along for the ride, she knew my sauce and the mystique that surrounded it. She couldn’t help herself, she was Jewish, and Jews are powerless to the flavor of authentic Italian food. Not that fake gumba slop they served in so-called-Italian Restaurants out in Long Island, or as my Chinese friends say “Ron Irand”, and definitely not Olive Garden or as my Chinese friends say (Awriv Garden).

How obnoxious is that, bottomless pasta, like you really need more than one bowl you fat fuck. Yea, what better to wash down nasty ass greasy white trash pasta than with breads sticks. Whenever I trash Olive Garden the 1st defense I always hear is how good their breadsticks are. Breadsticks are the hallmark of White Trashville U.S.A.. That’s how you know you live in a place with no class, someone somewhere is serving breadsticks. Well I guess I just cancelled out the entire continental U.S., this is obviously a difficult topic for me, lets move on.

Shopping is simple, you get two big bunches of fresh basil, two bulbs of garlic, about twelve links of sweet fennel sausage, and tomatoes. Some people brag about using real tomatoes, but I could honestly care less. I prefer to use Pomi. They are the ones in box. They are imported from Italy, and when you look at the ingredients, all it says is “Tomates”. I don’t want salt, oil or anything else, I’ll ad those things myself.

I used sea salt, fresh cracked pepper, extra virgin olive oil, and cayenne pepper, because the spice must flow. In goes the tomatoes, salt, pepper and cayenne to taste, olive oil you can use liberally. Pomi will require 2 boxes of chopped, 1 box of strained, 13 cloves of garlic pressed right into the sauce. I know some people talk about grilling the garlic, or throwing in grilled onion, but I prefer to press fresh garlic right into the sauce. As for the basil, I go heavy, so wash thoroughly, chop as fine as possible and throw it in.

If you’re vegetarian you can leave it as is and slow cook it on a low flame for three to four hours, and remember to constantly stir. I hate going to restaurants tasting sauce that has clearly been burned, if you keep stirring on low heat, you will avoid this. However if you like meat… now is the time to put it in. Any meat I put in I like to grill or broil first. I’m going to broil the sausage links till the skin is lightly crisp, then I’ll put them in the sauce. If I make meatballs, I am going to grill them on the stove top, other wise, spare ribs get a light broil, along with braciole.

You always need something to do at this point, because you shouldn’t leave the kitchen; the sauce needs to be stirred. I poured some Schweppes, and Becky opens her laptop to read an ebook she just download. Becky has discovered an underground scene of erotic fetish novels, the latest that she is reading is about a girl who chronicles her sex-capades among unsuspecting men whom she seduces. Everything seems pretty tame till the woman reveals her true intentions. For the woman in the book leaves a stain after having seduced the the men she meets.

The stain being that she likes to wet the mattress of whomever she seduces. First waiting till the men are asleep before she does this, until she progresses into doing it during intercourse. She lies to the men, tells them that they excite her so much that she is spraying. This makes the men fill full of machismo, but the last laugh is on her, because in reality she is merely pissing on them. The book was titled “Golden Girl”, however I felt it should have been called “P-notes from the underground”.

The book occupied us enough in between testing and sampling the sauce. When you cook it’s easy to get carried away testing. By the time it was ready all we wanted was a couple of sausage links, or as my Chinese friends say…rinks.

After dinner, Becky packs a bowl and asks is she can borrow my pipe. Pipes, books, cd’s (anyone still use these) are all things I have learned never to loan out.Nine times out of ten they never come back. I tell her I bought mine at the gas station, she doesn’t believe me so I go with her to the gas station to prove it. The plastic container in which I bought my pipe from is still there, however now it is just filled with lighters. So I ask the guy behind the counter if they have any pipes. He give me a strange look as he hesitates. Finally he reaches behing the counter and pulls out something that look like a clear pen. Then I realize it’s a crack pipe.

I laugh, and tell him no, that wasn’t what I was looking for. I am shocked, really, a crack pipe? I thought for sure that craze was over. Crack just seems really retro and passe. Do people really go to the corner store to but a pipe?

Just out of curiosity I asked how much for the pipe, the man told me two dollars, I should have bought it as a momento. A sign of the times.

The end product

Becky reading “Golden Girl”