BLUE TOOTH AND BLUE HAIR DON’T MIX.

My grandmother celebrated her 83rd birthday last week, and received a cellular phone as a gift from my uncle. Since then, I’ve tried to call her at least seven times…but to no avail. She’s hasn’t once answered the phone. So I called my father instead, and asked what’s the problem.

“Oh…your grandmother leaves the cell phone at home when she goes out.”

[Pause]

Leaves the cell phone at home? That seems a bit like buying a new car, but only using it to listen to the radio while sitting in the driveway.

Perhaps I’ll reconsider the Blackberry® that I was going to buy her for Christmas.

LET’S GET SAUCY.

My uncle vacationed in Italy earlier this month, and was disappointed with the food. He felt that it was “bland” compared to the Italian food to which he is accustomed in the US.I was not surprised by his conclusion. In fact, I think that the reasons behind it are pretty simple. My uncle is Italian-American, and he was eating in the land of Italian-Italians.

Contrary to what many in the US believe, Italian-Italians and Italian-Americans are two completely different beasts. And it’s not just because members of the latter group have a propensity to scratch their crotches in public places, whereas those in the former group do not. The differences go right down to the food.

Italian-Italians like their sauces to have clean, fresh flavors. Italian-Americans like them to have intense, meaty (and especially, porky) flavors.

I’ve eaten in Italy many times, and I’ve never encountered a sauce laden with meatballs, pork ribs, sausage, beef hunks and bracciole (i.e., the sauce on which my uncle and I were raised in Utica, NY). Nearly every tomato-based sauce that I’ve had in Italy tasted almost purely of – hold onto your hats – TOMATO! Sure, you can find sauces with additional flavorings tossed in (e.g., Bolognese with its ground beef, Puttanesca with its capers and spicy peppers, etc.), but these seem to be the exceptions rather than the norm.So it’s a matter of apples and oranges. Personally, I’d be happy to eat a big bowl of either. But since not everyone is as flexible or open-minded as I am, I feel compelled to provide these folk with some sort of public service.

As such…I list below the recipe for my mother’s/grandmother’s classic, meat-based, Italian-American “macaroni sauce.” If you are Italian-American, planning a trip to Italy and fear that your palate might be repulsed by the taste of an unadorned tomato, then you should pack of tub of this sauce in dry ice and wedge it into your suitcase.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stand at a bus stop and scratch my crotch.

NONNIE OLIVA’S MACARONI SAUCE (UTICA, NY)

56 oz. Crushed Tomato
56 oz. Tomato Puree
24 oz. Tomato Paste
Salt & Pepper
Fresh Parsley (minced)
Fresh Basil (slivered or chopped)
3-4 cloves of Garlic
Water (no more than 28 oz.)
Olive oil

Red wine for deglazing

1 lbs. Italian Sausage
1 lbs. Pork “Country Ribs” (salted and peppered)
1 lbs. Beef Chuck (cut into cubes, salted and peppered)
Meatballs (see recipe below, or use store-bought meatballs…which is what I do)
Optional (I rarely include this anymore):  Bracciole (see recipe below) or, if I’m feeling lazy, a long slab of Skirt Steak (cut into pieces, salted and peppered).

*Note:   If making this on the stovetop, my preference is to double this recipe.  Seriously…if you’re going to trash an entire weekend making sauce, you might as well make a ton and freeze it.   But I never make it on the stovetop any more.  See Note 2 below.

Step 1:  Cut meat and sausage into chunks.  Combine meats and garlic cloves in large bowl or hotel pan.  Salt, pepper, and toss.

Step 2:  In a large sauté pan, fry meats  and garlic (in batches) in olive oil at medium-high heat until browned on all sides. Transfer browned batches of all meats  and garlic into large kettle (off heat).

Step 3: Add tomato paste to rendered fats and (stirring frequently) fry on medium heat until darkened, but not burned. Transfer fried tomato paste into the kettle with the meat and garlic. If any browned bits cling to the bottom of the sauté pan, then deglaze with red wine, reduce, and transfer to the kettle.

Step 4: Add crushed tomato, tomato puree, and water to kettle. Cook on low heat until the sauce gets hot, then simmer on lowest heat possible. Stir frequently, being very careful not to allow the sauce on the bottom of the pot to scorch or the meatballs to disintegrate.

Step 5: Continue to simmer.  Read a book.  Hell, write a book.  Talk to your spouse.  Just don’t forget to stir frequently. Your goal is to babysit that pot of sauce until all the meat to be tender and nearly falling apart. It sounds torturous, but the house will smell so good…you won’t want to leave.  Total simmering time (from start to finish) can be anywhere from 8 to 12 hours.  As my grandmother would say, “Just taste it.”

Step 6: When sauce is done, stir in the parsley (and/or basil).  Top with freshly grated Pecorino Romano or Parmeggiano Reggiano cheese when served.  Buy the good Italian stuff, not an ugly step-child from Wisconsin.  I also like a good sprinkling of red pepper flakes or a drizzle of chile-infused EVOO, because I am a spicy dude.

Note: This will make A LOT of sauce…but it freezes well. Divide the remaining sauce and meat into plastic containers and freeze.  Also, I’ve simmered this sauce for as many as twelve hours.  Your goal is for the meat to be tender and nearly falling apart.

Note 2 and Life-changing #ProTip:  Did you know that you can skip 6-12 hours of babysitting a stovetop kettle by making this recipe in a slow cooker?  Yeah, it’s true.  You don’t even need to stir or stay home.  I can’t believe it took me this long to think of it.  Follow steps 1-4 as described above, BUT…instead of transferring the ingredients to a pot, transfer them to two (2) 6 quart slow cookers (or cut the recipe in half if using only one slow cooker…but seriously, just spend the extra $30 and buy a second slow cooker).  Set the slow cooker(s) to “Low,” then come back in 8-12 hours ready to eat.

Note 3:  I tried to make this recipe (again, cutting it in half) in an Instant Pot–believing that 8 hours of simmering could be reduced to a mere 20 minutes under high pressure.  And it would have worked, if it weren’t for that meddling “Burn” warning.  Yes, sadly…the Instant Pot “Burn” function kept triggering before the sauce reached high pressure.  If anybody can figure out how to get the sauce to high pressure without triggering “Burn,” you’ll likely find a Nobel Prize under the tree next Christmas.  That said, if you have an old school/low-tech stovetop pressure cooker, give it a try and let me know if my hypothesis holds [pasta] water.  I’ll betcha it does.

MEATBALLS

¾ lbs. Ground Beef
¾ lbs. Ground Pork
3-4 slices of Bread (soaked in water and squeezed)
1 Egg
Garlic (minced)
Fresh Parsley
Fresh Basil
Salt & Pepper
¼ cup Grated Cheese

Step 1: Mix ingredients.

Step 2: Roll into balls.

Step 3: Fry in olive oil until browned. Let cool on a paper towel-lined plate.

Disclaimer:  I haven’t made homemade meatballs in years, much to my mother’s chagrin.  It’s just too much trouble.  I buy froze meatballs from the grocery store and fry them along with the other meats.  Honestly, I can’t tell the difference in the finished product and it saves me at least an hour’s worth of labor.

NONNIE’S ITALIAN SAUSAGE

4 lbs. Coarsely-ground pork butt (i.e., pork shoulder)
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons paprika
2 teaspoons fennel seed
2 tablespoons hot red pepper flakes (optional)
Sausage casings, soaked in water to soften and remove salt (optional)

Step 1. Mix pork and spices in a bowl.

Step 2. Cover and let sit overnight in the fridge.

Step 3. Stuff into casings.  How do you do that?  Look it up on YouTube.

Another Disclaimer: Steps 1 and 2 are pieces of cake. Step 3 is a bit of a pain.  Plus, it requires special equipment. To be honest, I almost always just buy a good quality Italian sausage from the market when making sauce.

BRACCIOLE

1-1.5 lbs. Round Steak (sliced thinly)
Fresh Parsley
Salt & Pepper
Garlic (minced and sautéed) or Garlic Powder
Grated Cheese
Kitchen Twine or Toothpicks

Step 1: Pound steak with mallet.

Step 2: Slice steak into strips (i.e., wider/longer strips for big bracciole; narrower/shorter strips for small bracciole).

Step 3: Sprinkle steak strips with salt, pepper, garlic (or garlic powder), parsley and cheese.

Step 4: Roll strips like a jelly roll, so that the seasonings are inside the roll. Tie with twine or spear with toothpicks, so that they won’t unroll.

Step 5: Fry in olive oil until browned.

Yet Another Disclaimer:  I rarely make bracciole.  Honestly, the above combo of ribs, chuck, meatballs, and (most importantly) sausage is more than sufficient.

Posted by HelloAnother “Post for Posterity.”

READING IS FUN-DUH-MENTAL.



We were in a park in the city of Guadalajara (Spain) yesterday, when I noticed this woman reading on a bench. While I certainly applaud the intellectual way in which she spends her free time, it’s unfortunate that she didn’t read the sign taped to the park bench as intently as she read her book.

The sign says, “OJO MANCHA: RECIEN PINTADO.”



Which roughly translates to, “WET PAINT: DON’T SIT HERE, KNUCKLEHEAD!”

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SKELETOR SIGHTING – OCTOBER 2004.


Much like the mythical creature Sasquatch, our friendly neighborhood Skeletor is often seen but rarely photographed.

With cat-like reflexes, however, I was able to snatch the above shot without him noticing. Of course, I could have dressed him in lederhosen and sat him atop a pony for a formal portrait without him noticing…but that’s beside the point.

Here we see Skeletor resting on the windowsill of Bar Alcazar after an especially grueling early-morning workout with a heavy glass of brandy. Moments after I shot this photo, a car stopped and asked him for directions. Call me a pessimist, but I’d wager that the driver never reached his destination.

Unless, of course, his destination was a bar or liquor store.

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AND LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPLATE-TATION.

In my job at a major telecom equipment provider who’s name – creatively enough – starts with the prefix “Tel,” I am known as “The Template Guru.” At least, that’s what they call me to my face.

And hey…I’m not ashamed to admit it. I LOVE templates. Or put another way, I HATE to work inefficiently.

The rate at which I create and use templates in my job might be classified as “compulsive” by some psychologists. If this type of behavior is indeed a mental illness, then I would suspect that my boss and co-workers are happy that I suffer from it.

It should therefore come as no surprise that when friends of mine created their own blogs…yet failed to update them more than once per cicada cycle, I felt the need to intervene. And what better way to intervene than by creating…

THE ULTIMATE LAZY-ASS BLOGGER TEMPLATE!

Dear Blog readers:

Let me tell you about the day I’ve had.

When I woke up at ___ this morning, the weather was ___. I worked for a few hours and, in need of a midday break, decided to walk to my favorite bar, “_____.” But it was very crowded, so I turned around and went to “_____,” which was just a few doors down. I ordered a glass of ____ and a couple plates of _____. The ____ were fresh and crispy, although the ____ were a tad salty for my palate.

Suddenly I heard a rumble at the door. I turned my head to look. You’ll never guess who walked in! It was ______, star of the hit TV series _____. I was so flustered that I nearly dropped my ____ on the floor.

Well, you can imagine my shock when he/she walked directly to me and asked for a ______. I rifled through my pockets, but couldn’t find one. I started to panic. How could I possible fail a big star like ____ in such a simple request?!

Then I had an idea. Instead of giving him/her a ____ as he/she requested, I’ll give him/her a _______. It was a brilliant display of thinking on my feet! So I confidently extended my hand and handed him/her the ____.

At first there was a look of intense surprize on his/her face. Then he/she reached over, put his/her hand on my shoulder, and whispered the following in my ear: “___________.”

We both giggled and blushed. Suddenly, he/she handed me a folded note. “Don’t read it until I’ve left,” he/she said sternly. Then he/she turned on his/her heel, and walked toward the door. Pausing at the doorway, he/she turned his/her head and nodded.

I unfurled the note. My elbows jerked straight and my shorthairs stood on end. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. It said “_____________________.”

And that, my friends, was the day I had today. Check in tomorrow for a new post.

There you have it. From this day forward, neither busy-ness nor laziness shall be an acceptable excuse for blog neglect. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, yes. Shingles, perhaps. But busy-ness or laziness…no, no, no.

ODE TO A LONELY BLOG.



It’s been brought to my attention, by various people on various continents, that I have not updated my blog during the past week. While I certainly appreciate such diligent monitoring and reporting of my creative shortfalls, I can assure you all that I am well aware of them.

The truth is…I haven’t had any worthwhile ideas this week. Perhaps it’s because the ol’ biorhythms have been on a low ebb recently. We are, after all, in the midst of a change of seasons. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been editing a book on the side, and that project has devoured much of my creative energy lately. Or maybe it’s because my previous Prawnography post was so bloody brilliant that I felt it earned me a week off.

Whatever the reason for my neglect, I resolved that I would not go to bed tonight until I’ve posted something – ANYTHING – on this…my wilting, decaying Virtual Tapas Bar. So I decided to do what other artists do when their reserve tank of creativity runs dry: Revert to cheesy poetry.

ODE TO A LONELY BLOG.



Oh lonely blog

Shoo’d away like a dog

In the fog

By its cruel master Sal.

No new posts in a week

Is like a slap on the cheek

Fresh ideas proved

Too hard to corral.

If only the master

Would publish posts faster

Then all parts of Spain

Would rejoice.

Therefore one point is clear

As we cry in our beer

Sal surely ain’t

Blogville’s James Joyce.

Not this week, at least.

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PRAWNOGRAPHY.



I was browsing through a Japanese grocery store in Madrid yesterday, when I noticed these rather provocative boxes of fried snacks. Needless to say, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Just look at those shrimp! Frisky little buggers, aren’t they?! By the way, that pun was intended.

Either Japanese brand managers are incredibly naïve, or they’re masters of not-so-subliminal advertising. I can just imagine the marketing slogan:

“Shrimp Chips: As Effective As Viagra®…and They Go Great With Beer, Too!”

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TUTTI PER LA FAMIGLIA.



Sure, my ancestors emigrated from Italy’s Trulli Region nearly 100 years ago. But that doesn’t mean that I’m without family there.

During our trip last month, we were thrilled to meet – for the first time – my cousin Leonardo and his family. Our family reunion is memorialized in the photo above.

The circumstances surrounding the reunion were fortuitous. During our first trip to the region in 2001, we were chatting with our then-new friend Domenico (he of Happy Pizza Point) at his bar. I mentioned that my maternal ancestors were from the area, and sketched my family tree on a bar napkin. Domenico asked if he could keep it.

Domenico noticed that my mother shares the same surname with Leonardo, and brought it to his attention. Leonardo did some research and discovered that his great grandfather was the brother of my great-great grandfather. We exchanged several e-mails over the years until – finally – we made a return visit to the region last month.

It just goes to show you…there are few things in life as useful as a good bartender.

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THE WORD OF THE DAY IS…“CHAPUZA.”



The word “chapuza” in Spanish means a person (often a craftsman) who does things in a shoddy or incompetent manner. But why should I tell you what a chapuza is, when I can SHOW you.

Just look at the picture above. That, my friends, is a textbook chapuza.

Now, we could surely spend hours discussing why this person chose to use press-on numbers of a different color, shape, font and finish to alter his ceramic-tile address plaque…and whether he truly believes that it’s attractive. But I think the more interesting question is not how he altered it, but why?

Did the city hall knock on his door and say, “Ooops…we made a mistake on your deed. Your address is really 19B, not 28B.”

Or did he see this plaque in a store and think to himself, “Well…the number is wrong, but it’s on sale for 50% off. How could I possibly pass up such a bargain?!”

Sigh! Between this guy and our local alien astronaut-seducer, I’m starting to have concerns about neighborhood resale values. I don’t know whether to protest, or to start being more relaxed about keeping my lawn mowed.

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AGENTS SCULLY AND MULDER, I THINK YOU SHOULD SEE THIS.



If an alien spacecraft should land in my neighborhood, I’ll know who to blame: The guy in the house pictured above!

Just look at those antennae! What is he doing with them?

Watching “Good Morning Sri Lanka” on TV?

Making telephone calls to his mother…beyond the grave?

Enticing whales off the coast of Chile to beach themselves?

I’d love to ask him, but I’m afraid. His house is surrounded by an iron security fence, wired with surveillance cameras and alarm systems, and guarded by very buff Rottweiller. Plus, he has a plaque bolted next to his mailbox that says, “The Godfather.” If you think I’m kidding, then buy a plane ticket and come see for yourself.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep hoping that he’ll decide to move to Lichtenstein soon…and sell his house to a nice Amish family.

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