Aromas
The yawning, awakening cabin
Is yet bathed in the aromas of last evening's cooking —
The sweet marinara sauce I made, from scratch.
Had you seen the joie de vivre dancing across my eyes,
You'd have thought I fancied myself a world-class chef,
As I meticulously prepared those carefully chosen ingredients
And incorporated them, one by one,
Into the eight-quart pot among the kitchen's amenities —
Dicing, mincing, slicing, scissoring, chopping, grating,
Getting slowly, ebulliently lost in the expanding fragrances
Lifting from the old electric stove,
Into every crevice, niche, and fiber of this cozy habitation.
Indeed, I was so absorbed in the steps of my sauce recipe,
I never stopped to ask why I was so impassioned
(Aren't there times when we just let ourselves get carried away?):
1. Add a couple tablespoons of olive oil; heat till hot;
2. Cut off ends of ten garlic cloves; peel skin; mince; throw in;
3. Mince as many green onions as possible, more; toss in;
4. Add tomato puree, preferably three pints;
5. Follow up with two small cans of tomato paste;
6. Stir in one pint diced tomatoes;
7. Now, the secret to it all: one-half cup Beaujolais-Villages;
8. Add one-half teaspoon salt — just a smidgen;
9. Sprinkle in one-eighth teaspoon, approx., of pepper;
10. Cut up, with scissors, one teaspoon oregano leaves fresh off stalk;
11. Ditto with leaves of garden-plucked basil — two tablespoons;
12. Grate one-half cup Asiago cheese; sprinkle into the sauce.
After an hour of elated fascination with the process,
I stirred the simmering, thickening "gravy," with my wooden spoon,
Every fifteen minutes, for the next two hours.
I then boiled water, in another pot, adding two teaspoons of salt,
And, in the final minutes (the last six, to be exact),
Dropped in all fourteen and a half ounces of angel-hair pasta.
When it was done, I drained it and stirred in the sauce,
Transferred dinner to a large bowl, which I brought to the table,
Then served myself the first of three platefuls of steaming delight,
Along with a green salad and thin-sliced Italian bread,
And the evening was complete.
This morning, I know what I'll have for breakfast: these aromas.
08/20/09 - (3)
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