The ‘I’ in Italian is for Irish

17 03 2013

St. Patrick’s Day. I am green for the occasion. Frankly, I could have done a better job myself simply rolling in the freshly mown spring grass.1034471684_03013052f1_t

The meal this evening: Green pasta with smoked salmon, creme fraiche and vodka….vodka?105683306_458e9335c6_t

I suppose it’s a better choice than Irish Whiskey. At least vodka is flavorless. A reflection on the Russian culture? Makes a dog think.4202198032_b137b8ff79_t

The cook tosses a handful or two of baby spinach from the garden into the churning pasta dough, passes it through a hand-cranked cutter and out come stands of verdant linguine, like the long, slender grasses of mid-summer.7379440830_051b9132b8_t

The sauce: Creme fraiche to begin. Fraiche because it’s straight from the cow next-door, thick and rich; ice cream without the sugar.3249757365_9a5e6951a7_t

Vodka we have discussed. Gives the dish a piquant edginess. Another Soviet quality, perhaps?

The two, warmer together over a low flame lend a sweetness to the kitchen that hovers in the air like the aroma of some heady, unnamed blossom. Unwrap a package of tender, gently smoked Irish salmon and the kitchen becomes a perfumery. Heaven.2343601360_f2f4aff6c4_t

Cook folds the salmon pieces into the sauce. Checks for flavor, swiping a privileged finger through the mix, adds a splash more vodka to both the sauce and her glass of fresh-pressed juice. I guess the Russian liquid must have SOME merit.

The green pasta is boiled in salty water in the time it takes me to make it to the corner of the yard to water the basil, and return.

Linguine drained, sauced and served with a generous sprinkling of fresh parmesan and a glass of crisp Italian wine.865303675_d9436aea2b_t

Now THAT’S St.Patricks Day in style.374491_441513399262757_326224331_n

Chow.





I Am a Dog

8 03 2013

I’m a dog. Goes without saying. A quadruped among man. I walk through life in much the same way: sleep, eat, chase. procreate—if I’m lucky. Time moves through space the same way for me as it does for my master. The leap from blazingly bright birth into the fuzzy unknown of the great beyond, the same, right?

The speed of light.

Man seems to think that as the years advance time speeds up, and that may be true. Yet, take a moment and remember how quickly we all advance through space. In relationship to that, we all move slowly. Like the dog days of summer against the backdrop of hyper-drive.

Next time you, as a human, feel rushed, take a breath, stick your face out the window of a moving vehicle, and appreciate the fact that at any time, just like the family dog who sleeps, eats, chases and, if lucky, procreates, you can bring your head in out of the wind at any time.

Slow down.

Because the universe is taking care of the speed thing just fine.

Chow.

 








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