A couple of weeks ago somebody referred to me online as a “snow shoveling god”.
Let me make this perfectly clear. I am NO snow shoveling god. Rather, I am a fifty-five year old gent with a work ethic that runs bone-deep.
However, you CAN call me a kitchen god if you want to.
I don’t cook fancy. I don’t cook pretty.
I just cook.
Cooking is about as easy as cold beer going down on a hot summer day.
Basically there are maybe three or four different ways you can cook something. You can fry it. You can boil it. You can bake it.
No matter what sort of gourmet restaurant you step into – no matter HOW blue the plate may be and no matter what price tag is dangling off of those vittles odds are that they were fried, boiled or baked.
It just isn’t as hard as some folks like to pretend.
I came home tonight and Belinda had a wonderful fry pan full of supper hash. There were leftover potatoes and leftover sausages and an onion and some carrots.
A side of ketchup and a bottle of beer and I was a happy camper.
“Okay,” she asked me. “What do you figure we ought to have tomorrow night?”
“Leave that me,” I said. “I have a plan.”
I looked in the fridge. We had another leftover sausage – one of those big fat smokey sausages with chunks of cheddar thrown in to the meat so that you can tell yourself that this stuff is healthy on account of cheese is made of milk and EVERYONE knows that milk is healthy – isn’t it?
I’m not talking fancy, you understand.
I looked through the pasta cupboard and found a box of rainbow rottini.
You know that stuff that is red and green and white? They make it with spinach powder and tomato powder added to the pasta so that you can ONCE AGAIN pretend that it’s healthy – on account of it’s got vegetables in it.
I found a half a yellow pepper and I pulled a big fat red onion out of the onion bucket. I boiled some water and threw the pasta in to boil. Then I threw a fry pan the size of Cincinatti onto the burner and chopped up the onion and pepper and sausage while the fry pan got hot.
It is important to remember that some of the sausage was NOT sliced evenly – so I had that throw those uneven chunks into my mouth and chew manfully. Then I moaned a little, like I had fallen into a waterbed full of stupefied cheerleaders.
A man has got to do what a man has got to do.
Then I spilled a little olive oil into the hot fry pan and threw the onion and pepper and sausage into the oil. Stirred like an occasional lunatic while keeping half an eye on the pasta, making sure that it did not boil over.
Occasionally I applied my lips to a happily opened bottle of beer.
When the pasta was ready I dumped it into a colander and then dumped the pasta back into the pot. I tipped the nicely sauted peppers and onions and sausage into the pasta.
For those of you who don’t know – saute is a five dollar word for “fried”.
Then I dumped in a package of Velveeta cooking cheese – garlic and herb flavor. I could have just as easily have added some butter and garlic powder – or shredded some cheese and added a little milk and stirred – but the Velveeta was in the fridge – which made it handy.
The whole thing took about as time and brain power as it took to write this blog entry.
Repeat after me folks – cooking isn’t hard.
yours in storytelling,