Monday, 23 August 2010

Switching Teams (an ode to the wondrous meat sauce of old)

It happens.

And yes I am being a bit tongue in cheek perhaps, but there comes a time when the issue is forced and one must claim one tribe over the other.  Till that inevitable fork in the road appears, we think we're on the right path.  And then looming before us a great choice.

And generally there is no turning back.   

Oh there can be swaps, when one team calls back a lost one to the fold.  Or the odd ball adventure or two that means you were uninhibited.  But there are but two camps, kids.  And those pesky players who insist they can happily live in between these two worlds can pucker up and kiss my NOW unchafed tuckas cause you are either a bicyclist or a runner.  And them there's the facts.  The awakening will be vast and will shake you to to core.  But in the end, you choose.  You have to.  The road knows and so do we  - if we claim it.  So yes these last few weeks I've come to realize that I woke up a runner and my bike is parked and dusty for more than a season.  So there you have it.  She who once had two dharma wheels to spin now uses her legs alone to guide her cross the landscape.  WTF?

You can snicker but this is a seminal change.  My tree ring for this year ---- dramatic.

And of course any bike story inevitably leads back to Dru.  And that's a long story, kids --- and one I think I'll have to share down the line.  But leaving the bike is in essence leaving Dru.  And till I can muster the courage to write that chapter down properly and truly observe it...let us please eat.  I'm tired.  My weary legs have crossed 18 big ones today and I'm simmering a meat sauce on the stove because 1) I'm always famished!;  2) it's finally cool enough to have the damn stove on; 3) it's one of those days that there ain't much in the larder and we're on a mission from God.

Also, since I've been musing about my old life ----  when my bike was my great love, it is appropriate to dine thus -- as we lived almost exclusively then on the pauper's standby - pasta.  And once in a blue moon, we'd get our hands on some ground beef and amp it up a bit.  It was never great but always filling.  And we ate it as is life depended on it because we were making pennies and we really couldn't afford anything else.  Plus today was a day I needed to face the dreary remains of last week's shopping and try to do something reasonable with the stuff.  So this humble sauce is an odd to the old life - although a bit better. I think I've done a good job today with this.  It's a happy melange of old cans of stewed tomatoes, paste, shallots, onions, kalamata olives, farmers market garlic (not from China!!!) fried up in beautiful Turkish olive oil (Sultan -- a very good value and truly fruity), fresh basil, and about two pounds of ground chuck previously cooked.  I didn't have any cheese rinds so I threw in a hunk of old manchego and fried down another pepper or two from the vegetable bin with a few scrappy onions.  In a bit, I'll add some red pepper and more basil and keep cooking this baby down till the house smells divine.   And maybe I'll put this over some pasta and bake it when the cooler winds come.   I love reheating baked pasta till it the last of it gets all crunchy.  But then that's me....

And maybe while that's cooking after work some night this week, I'll sit back and start up the next batch of something to share...........
Till then, pass the Parmesan and tuck in.

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About Me

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Chicago, Illinois, United States
A post modern crone, living in an urban fairy tale set in Rogers Park. Two parts story telling -- one part practical kitchen/spell magick.