Friday, July 30, 2021

Tasty and Hasty Pasta by The Careless Cook





Tasty and Hasty Pasta by The Careless Cook

 

Sometimes things just spring to mind.  No, not that.  I’m referring to food.  I’d just had a swim and was driving home when pasta did the springing.  My body was begging for some solid carbs with Italian flavors, accompanied of course by some Italian vino.

 

My water-soaked mind quickly reviewed the contents of the pantry, with a glimpse into the freezer section of the frig.

 

Had this, had that, had those other things. Good supply of fruit of the wine. All I was missing was pasta.  Could have been something of a show-stopper.

 

But, the show never stops for The Careless Cook!  My self-steering car automatically pulled into the parking lot of a friendly grocer.

 

A self-steering car?  You may well ponder.  Yes, I was steering it myself.  And I was lying about the friendly grocer.  It was a large supermarket chain; impersonal, but stocked with a vast array of what I was looking for. In seconds I was in and out and headed home. 

 

You see, meals don’t take a lot of planning, if you keep your kitchen well stocked with healthy supplies and your mind well supplied with a sense of culinary adventure.

 

I know my three faithful readers are all about adventure and I can see by their half empty wine glasses they’re ready to join me in the kitchen.

 

Let me top you off with another splash or two of a nice, silky smooth Primitivo. Salute! (Sal-ut-tey)

 

Tasty and Hasty Pasta From The Careless Cook

 

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef

a package of sliced mushrooms

2 spring onions, sliced

1 ½ cups cherry tomatoes, sliced in two

1 cup chopped, oil cured, sundried tomatoes

At least two big handfuls of fresh spinach

1 package of pasta (I used Mueller’s Lemon Pepper Rotini) I found that the short rounded pasta blends better when you’re not using a sauce.

Salt and pepper to taste

Italian seasoning to taste

Olive oil as needed

Grated Italian cheese and chopped cilantro for garnish



 

Puttin’ It Together

 

Boil the pasta according to package directions.

Sautee the sliced mushrooms in a little bit of oil, until they are lightly browned.

 

In a larger pan, cook the ground beef, breaking it up as much as you can.  When the beef is cooked add all the other ingredients except the spinach, but including the sautéed mushrooms, and cook until the cherry tomatoes are softened.  Add the spinach and continue to cook until the spinach is wilted.  Add salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning to taste.

Drain the pasta and return it to the pasta pot.  Slosh in a little olive oil and stir.





Add the cooked beef mélange to the pasta and stir.  Questo è tutto! That’s it!

Plate it, add the garnishes and slosh some more wine in the glasses!



No doubt you will be greeted with applause and a request for more wine.

 

 

  

Thursday, July 29, 2021

Peckerhead, a Short Story

 



 Gordon Peckerhead Wass a ruffian of the first order.  He preferred be called Slide or Mr. Slide and he's already killed three men for calling him by his last name.  His father before him had killed two and his mother one.  Calling the family fierce was like calling a Tasmanian devil irritable.


With both his parents gone to the great beyond, Mr. Slide ran the Manahoy gang in the town of Liquid Springs, not to be confused with the nearby town of Dry Gulch.

 

Dry Gulch was called by it’s native American moniker, Rushing Waters, until Slide and his gang took over the area’s water supply and community swimming pool.  Before the swimming pool had been free, but now anyone who wanted to swim paid Slide and his boys a nickel to get in and another nickel to get out, plus interest of a penny an hour.

 

Jack Spanker, Mr. Slide’s number two, also called Number Two by the townspeople, had a rough time with math and was easily confused. Youngsters often swam for an hour and exited for a penny instead of 6 cents.

 

The other members of the gang sharpened their skills by going into the desert to shoot slingshots at cougars and make a run for it.  Two members hadn’t run quite fast enough.  Cougars never tired of the game.


 

Sheriff Duewa Diddy, had only killed one man for calling him by his last name.  But, it had been a fair fight. The sheriff took the guy’s gun and gave him a running start.

 

Right now, Sheriff Diddy had a giant problem.  The town folk in Liquid Springs were starting to complain about the rising cost of hay, now that Gordon Peckerhead had cornered the hay market and burned the fields of those who complained.

 

The problem could be easily solved by buying hay from Dry Gulch, except the Dry Gulch fields had all withered and died.

 

Sammy Hoof had come up with another solution, breeding cows that ate only a quarter of the hay a normal cow ate. Sadly, they were skinny, very skinny, and only stood two feet tall.  Milk was still labeled a gallon, but only contained a cup, and a twelve-ounce steak could fit in palm of your hand.  

 

Sheriff Diddy had a solution.  The city council recertified measurements.  A cup was now officially a gallon, and six ounces of steak became twelve ounces.  A large bail of hay would now fit in a lunch pail, while ranchers were prohibited from breeding anything but short, skinny cows.

 

Even with the new measurements, it was more than the suffering citizens of Dry Gulch had.  They started moving to Liquid Springs.  Land prices in Liquid Springs shot up like English arrows at the Battle of Crécy.   Nobody was terribly happy.  Mental illness was a pandemic.

 

The city council altered the times of the day. Daylight was declared to be from two in the morning to midnight and official night shrunk to two hours.  They called it moonlight saving time. Liquor stores within a hundred mile radius gave their employees cash bonuses and threw street parties in major cities.

 

Merchants opened their doors at four in the morning, but couldn’t hire enough employees. Worst yet, customers didn’t show up. Revenue dropped into the bottom of a deep well.

 

The city council of Liquid Springs voted to raise taxes to pay for newly arrived citizens of Dry Gulch to have affordable housing.  One council member lost the will to live after being marinated in a pond.  Another quickly changed his vote, in the middle of the street with a gun to his head.

 

It was time for the citizens of the two towns to combine forces and take action.



The action came the by name of The Silver Kid, whose father had been a gunfighter, The Lead Kid.  His grandfather was The Happy Kid, the founder of Liquid Springs, which at the time was called Damp Springs.

 

The day The Silver Kid kicked the door of the saloon and strode in was the day the citizens of both towns realized they’d made the right choice.

 

The first thing The Kid noticed was cowboys going in the ladies room. He pulled out his polished steel Bowie knife and told the cowboys, all two of them, one of whom was the Sheriff, to stop bothering the ladies, or stand by to become steers, with all the rights and privileges to squat instead of squirt.

 

He didn’t have to use his knife to make some conversions, and to get the sheriff to take off his badge, toss it to The Kid and make a hasty retreat, the saloon doors swinging.

 

Next, The Kid turned and called out Peckerhead, who was sitting at a poker table with a large stack of chips in front of him.

 

“Men have died, calling me by my last name!”  Peckerhead got up and reached for his long barreled forty four.  Chips scattered.

 

“And men have died interrupting me,” The Kid said, pulling out both silver pistols and dotting the i on Peckerhead’s liver, crossing the t of his throat and turning the h for head into an H.

 

The silver pistols sparkled as they spun and were holstered in a flash.

 

Mr. Slide slid.  

 

Within the hour, gang members fled the city, and those who stayed repented of their sins at the Sin No More Church of Holy Smoke. The collection plates soon had to be carried by weightlifters and the pastor bought his wife new shoes. 

 

The two towns shared a cemetery, Chelsea Boot Meadows, featuring a state of the art Jenn-Air crematorium and bakery.  Trouble was, nobody could afford to be buried there.  And nobody wanted to buy the bread. The Silver Kid paid for one body to be camped for eternity.  Citizens put weights on the drowned council member and left him to sink in the pond.

 

Moonlight Savings Time, however stayed on the books.  Nobody knew why and nobody wanted it.

 

The towns merged and became Liquid Gulch.





Many years later, a statue of Peckerhead stood in the town square and his time became known as a time of great prosperity.  Beside him stood a statue of a very small cow and a tiny set of scales.  Under the statue the plaque read, Mr. Gordon. Slice, Prosperity For the People. A true gentleman of the old west.

 

In that same future decade, The Silver Kid was vilified by the town council as a killer and his statue was taken down in the dead of what was left of the night.

 

A nearby town of Dusty Fields lost their water rights and soon citizens of the town began to emigrate…


PINTREST DID NOT PERMIT ME TO ADVERTISE THIS STORY AS WRITTEN.  NO SPECIFICS GIVEN, BUT I TOOK A GUESS AND HAVE CHANGED THAT PART OF THE BARROOM SCENE. 

Monday, July 26, 2021

Maybe Murder



                                        Maybe Murder

My Newest novel is now available on Amazon, the kindle edition.  Paperback will be out in a few days.

John D "Jack" Hudson is back! Once more he's getting in over his head and this time it's blackmail...his blackmail. A deputy sheriff in Cassavora County has been running drugs and now is turning state's evidence. Someone wants the deputy killed before he testifies. Jack is supposed to do the job, but Jack is no killer. Now he's in a race to sort out friends from enemies, figure out who's behind the game and keep himself alive. Meanwhile, his old girlfriend's ex-husband turns up dead in Jack's house. Another girlfriend has second thoughts about losing him. As with the previous novel, Lowdown. Dirty. Shame., it's set in the quirky, small town south, with a cast of oddball characters. And, nothing is as it seems.

Amazon. Maybe Murder by William Stroud


Chapter 1
The End of the line

I park my white Honda on the other side of the street, get out, and stand in the shadows, waiting for the show to begin.  Tall pines rise up behind me, but it’s a thin copse, with houses and businesses clearly seen past the roughly barked trunks.  My Glock is in my shoulder holster and the other, untraceable pistol rests in the outside pocket of my dark leather jacket.  I’m as nervous as a tethered goat facing a pride of lions. 

A cream and brown patrol car pulls up in front of the house and drives onto the thin, weedy lawn. No sirens or flashing lights, and no hesitation. Car doors slam.  Everything seems to be going according to somebody’s plan.  I don’t know whose. I’ve heard so many different versions. Nobody shoos me away or tells me to get back in my car and move on.  Nobody even looks my way.  That part of the plan is on track. 

Darkly smudged, foreboding clouds drift over, temporarily hiding the sun and casting somber shadows.  I tell myself to stay calm.  Myself doesn’t listen well.  My heart’s pounding like an epileptic snare drummer.   I’d like a cool sip of water and there are any number of places I’d rather drink it and any number of people I’d rather be with.

The former Chief Deputy of Cassavora County, now the star witness in a grand jury investigation, steps out of the backseat of the patrol car and is escorted to the house by both of the deputies.  The escorts wear matching dark brown khaki trousers and crisp, light brown shirts with patches on the sleeves.  They’re bare headed.  Their thick, black belts are shiny leather, with the butts of their pistols and radios clearly visible.  The former chief deputy stands straight, has on civilian clothes and walks with confidence. 


Elton Krebs, the former Chief Deputy is the only one I recognize.  The rest could be from anywhere.  In this state, sheriff’s deputies look like sheriff’s deputies. They don’t have Krebs handcuffed.  He walks like he’s in charge, instead of a jail inmate, facing charges, and waiting to testify.

An unmarked car pulls up and a man and a woman in civilian clothes get out and walk toward the group of three who are just about to enter the house. 

I know these two. The woman turns and motions for me to hurry up.  I hesitate, then start to walk.  I get only a few feet when the crack of what sounds like a pistol comes from inside the house. Krebs and the two escorts drop to a knee.  The deputies draw their guns and aim them nowhere in particular.

Instinctively, I drop down also, but don’t pull a weapon.  Nobody seems to know exactly what’s going on.  Clearly the plan is soggy and already swirling down the toilet.

I glance over where the woman and her partner have taken refuge behind their car.

Something just isn’t right.  Hasn’t been right from the beginning. This is not the way it’s supposed to happen.




Sunday, July 25, 2021

Blender Banana Cream Pie by The Careless Chef

 



Blender Banana Cream Pie by The Careless Chef

 

I’ve had so many people writing and asking questions about the Lemon Pie recipe.    Now I’ll answer all three of them.

 

1. You said you use a whole lemon in the recipe.  How do you get the seeds out?

Well Daphne, the secret is in the list of ingredients and I specifically refer to the lemon:  chopped.  Then look for the little hard white thingies.

 

2. What if I don’t like lemon because they hurt my stomach and I break out in hives, but my husband likes lemons and they don’t hurt his stomach?

I offer two solutions:  The first, is don’t make a lemon pie, Mildred!  Option II, which I think suits you better:  Sacrifice yourself for the good of mankind and continue to complain.

 

3.  Can you use fruit other than lemon?

Yes, Chrystal.  In fact, the other day I used moldy tangerines.  Just be sure to brush your teeth afterwards.

 

But, now, showing his magnanimity The Carless Cook will toss you another blender delight:  Banana Cream Pie!  Hint for Daphne:  Peel the bananas.

 

Blender Banana Cream Pie

Heat the oven to 350ºF, 180ºC

 

Ingredients

 

¾ cup sugar

3 tablespoons cornstarch

½ cup heavy cream

1 ½ cups milk

3 egg yolks

4 bananas, PEELED and broken into pieces (I used very dark, overly ripe bananas because that’s what I had in my frig)

a pat of butter

a nine inch graham cracker piecrust

 

Now comes the really difficult part:  Put everything but the piecrust in a blender and blend until it is the consistency of pudding. 

 

Pour the contents of the blender into a saucepan and cook until it begins to thicken.  Stir constantly or you will have lumps at the bottom of the pot!  Cook a couple of minutes more.

 

Pour the mixture into the piecrust and slip it in the oven for 15-18 minutes.  In my oven it took the full 18 minutes.  You can tell the pie is done when you only get a tiny bit of wiggle in the middle.



Allow the pie to cool, then cover and put it in the refrig.  It will thicken up nicely as it cools and will be easy to cut into slices.

 

For serving, you can top the pie with lightly sweetened whipped cream, or decorate with extra rounds of banana, or do as I did and just lightly sprinkle the whole pie with cinnamon.  OR, you can use the egg whites to make a merengue, pile the merengue the top and then bake the pie. 



Merengue is not a favorite of The Careless Cook.  He thinks it detracts from the fruit flavor.  This is one of the lesser known of his personality flaws.

 

I tested my creation on a women’s Sunday School class and got rave reviews, along with proposals of marriage, and several phone numbers.

 

Only kidding.  No one proposed marriage.

 

 

Wednesday, July 21, 2021

A Sadness of Desire


 A Sadness of Desire

 

He never wanted it to be this way.  Sad.  Alone.  He sat at an avenue cafe, a table for one, sipping a reasonably pleasant Primitivo.  His creative well, once overflowing and teeming with ideas, had become a deep darkness of soft mud.  He could barely see the bottom.  Didn’t bother to lower the bucket.

 

“Would signore care for another?”

 

Would he care for another?  A perplexing question.  Another dose of youth?  A lover who couldn’t get enough of him?  Another idea for a novel?  Or, just another glass of wine?

 

“Signore?” asked the patient waitress.  The gentleman came in often, every afternoon at four to be exact.  He ordered wine and stared at blank pages of his notebook, gazed at passers by and generally took up space, while other crowded tables buzzed with conversation and laughter.

 

“Ah….sì, per favore.”  Well, at least that settled that.

 

Why come here when it took solitude to tease and channel the creative thoughts into submission?  The question had long since ceased to roll in the meadows of his mind.  He came here because this noisy gathering offered a sense of measured order in a disordered life.

 

The questions and the answers twisted like unruly children, while his pen lay flat on the unopened notebook.  He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but neither was he plain.  The blush of youth had long ago faded into a cloudy, distant memory. 

 

Three young men passed on the street, smartly dressed, coats falling casually and fashionably off their shoulders in the Italian manner, full heads of dark hair, the thinness of GQ models, smiles as bright and reflective as newly fallen snow.  The waitress smiled back in a shy, yet fully cognitional manner.

 

“Come with us!” One of the young men yelled out, still flashing his smile, while beckoning with a waving palm.

 

The waitress spread her arms wide.  Oh the abundance of patrons.  A hopeless situation.

 

“I’ll be back,” the young man called, “with flowers and wine!”

 

The waitress laughed demurely in a “We’ll see,” kind of way, but at the same time opening a floodgate of possibilities.

 

The man at the table picked up his pen and opened the black notebook, filled with blank, unlined pages.  A story passed through his head as though already written.  The story of Vincenzo and Paula wandered in, line by line.  The meeting at the spilling of red wine on Vincenzo’s white slacks that had cost him nearly a week’s wages.  Her dark eyes and the way her black hair spilled over her shoulder, when she leaned toward him with the offer of a red cloth napkin and a basket of soft apologies.

“What is that cologne?” he asked.  

 

She wore no cologne. Only the fragrance of love, which descended upon him so quickly and carelessly, like a spring bouquet of mountain flowers.

 

From the table behind the man, a female voice called out.  “David?” which she pronounced in an Italian accent, Da-veed.

 

The spell was broken.  Vincenzo and Paula disappeared in the smoky vapor of torched ideas.

 

The voice was familiar.  He turned.  Clara.  His former lover’s friend.  The memories floated back, wrapping him in creative chains.  

 

Clara, had the air of a know it all, a gossipy woman, ten years his senior, whom he trusted less then an angry boar. Always a quick smile and a brush of her hand on his wrist, as if she longed to have met him before Pané had dragged him into a dreamland of late night adventures, and train rides to the coasts of beauty, and an intro to Italian culture one would never find in a classroom, or even a very naughty book.  It was the Italy of carefree coupling, stays in stone, vineyard-based accommodations, and sleeping until noon, and introductions to more Italians then he could remember.  Pané seemed to know everyone, everywhere. Artists, writers, patrons who clung to their long lost royal heritage.  It was a dream world where David could be himself.  Being himself meant writing profusely.

 

That all changed, when…well, he need not think of it now.

 

He had never been remotely attracted to Clara.  Not even in passing.  Not even drunk. Certainly not now. She was one of those women for whom the phony was reality. 

 

“So, how have you been?”  Clara crooned in Italian.  She had a preconceived sorrowful look of knitted eyebrows, and thin lips, always halfway hopeful she would hear a tearful tale she could repeat to anyone who would listen.

 

“Have you heard from Pané?” she continued, her smile regaining the advantage.  “You know she’s still with that horrible man.  He treats her so roughly and you were so loving.”

 

David made a split second decision not to slap her hard enough to stun a bull and impale a picador with his own pica.

 

“Let’s talk about something more pleasant,” David said, with the underlying promise to snuff out her unbearable life if she didn’t change the subject.

 

“Perhaps we could meet for a wine? Do you come here often?” Clara breezed on as if the time and date had been sculpted by Michelangelo.

 

Instead, let’s meet in a more private place, he thought, where I could watch you molested by Jojo, the silver back gorilla, but the words came out so civilly even he was surprised.  “I can’t tomorrow.”  He let the last word drift into a chasm of uncertainty.  “Normally, I don’t come here,” he lied.  “I don't live close.”  He felt safe, knowing she didn’t live here either.

 

“Where do you live?” She persisted, her dark eyes boring like a drill press.  He was surprised she didn’t lick her lips at the mere thought of scraping up more manure to spread around her gossipy garden.

 

David glanced at his watch.  “Would love to chat, but…..” another sentence trailed into oblivion. He stood.  “Nice to see you, Clara.”  About as nice as a doctor telling you herpes isn’t fatal.

 

They kissed on both cheeks. He felt a heavy dose of powder on his lips, but stifled the urge to wipe it off.

 

God, he had to get back to his apartment!  The vision of Vincenzo and Paula and now her evil, intrusive, psycho mother was tumbling out in whole paragraphs.




Monday, July 19, 2021

Pork and Apricot Stew from The Careless Cook

 



Pork and Apricot Stew from The Careless Cook

 

As my three loyal readers know, my meal planning usually involves no planning.  Well, except for wine. There will be wine.

 

But, when visions of pork stew began to float through my head, my next step was on the accelerator as I headed to the grocers.  Yes, a big pile of  chopped pork stew meat was first on the mental list.  See, I prefer mental lists because there’s no trouble changing and rearranging things, which came in handy when the grocer had no pork stew meat.

 

I was a man on a mission and a little thing like that was no deterrence for The Careless Cook.  I spotted cubed pork steaks and my fingers twitched.  Then my agile mind pictured dried, but still juicy apricots, which I remembered from days long past. Then one by one the other ingredients (I have thoughtfully included a photo) popped loudly and found their way into my basket.



Time to cook!

 

Ingredients

 

1 ½ pounds of pork, chopped into cubes, or whatever.

1 onion roughly chopped

1 green bell pepper, also chopped      I think we got a rhythm going!

1 package of sliced mushrooms

1 package of sliced carrots

1 large handful of dried apricots

32 ounce carton of chicken broth

A hefty sprinkle of herbes de Provence or herbs of your choosing

Fresh basil leaves for garnish (I sliced some and left some whole)

Salt and pepper to taste

 

Putin’ It Together

 

Slosh some olive oil in a large pot and add the pork.  Cook until it loses color, then add the onions and cook until the onions wilt. 

 

Add the remainder of the vegetables, along with the apricots, chicken stock and herbs.  Put a lid on it and bring to a boil.



 

Reduce heat and cook until the vegetables are soft.

 

Serving suggestions:  Serve over rice or couscous.  White wine of choice.  I served my stew with Pinot Gris.

 

Ever thoughtful of my guests, I baked some flat bread.  Recipe below.

 

Note:  If you like your stew thicker, I suggest a mixture of butter and flour.  I added a couple of tablespoons to the stew.



Flat Bread

 

2 cups flour (all purpose or bread flour are both fine)

1 teaspoon yeast (I use the TLAR method….That Looks About Right)

1 teaspoon sugar (TLAR)

olive oil – check the recipe for use

½ teaspoon salt – plus rough salt for sprinkling on top

¾ to 1 cup of very warm water  (How warm?  Not boiling but uncomfortable for your fingertips)

 

Makin’ and Bakin’

 

Add all ingredients to a bowl, except the oil and mix well.  I used a handheld electric mixer, then formed it into two balls.

 

I oiled my palms and coated the balls with oil, placed them back in the bowl, covered the bowl with plastic wrap and put the bowl in a cool oven, with the oven light on.

 

The dough needs to rise about an hour.  Remove from the oven.

 

Heat oven to 450ºF

 

On a floured surface, stretch and flatten the risen dough to about half an inch thick, spray it, or brush it with olive oil and sprinkle on a sparse amount of rough salt.

 

Bake for 15-20 minutes, depending on your oven. Bread should be barely browned in spots.  Bake it too long and you can use it for a ping pong paddle.


Slosh some more wine in your guests' glasses.  You won't be sitting long before you hear bellowing cries for more.

Sunday, July 11, 2021

Lemon Pie in a Blender by The Careless Cook

 




Lemon Pie in a Blender by The Careless Cook

 

By now you know I’m a big believer in the serendipity of cooking.  Being precise only slows a cook down!  Why use a teaspoon measure for this or that.  Use a teaspoon measure once and pour the salt or sugar or whatever in your hand.  After that you know what a teaspoon-full looks like!  And do a few grains of sugar or salt make a difference?  I think not, but then I’m a careless cook.

 

But, how about liquids?  Hey, do you measure exactly how much wine you’ve just poured in your glass?  And when you bring it to your pouty lips, does it taste good?  Taste is the key.

 

So in this recipe, which may call for a teaspoon of vanilla, does a small slosh do just as well as a teaspoon certified by the National Institute of Standards and Technology, a part of the U.S. Department of Commerce?

 

I say “Down with government interference in my lemon pie!”  I shall slosh and sprinkle if I wish!  And by golly, it will taste great!

 

“But, oh treasured Careless Cook,” you of slight courage may ask, “How can you be sure it will taste good?”

 

Because I taste tested it, you ninny!  

 

Now have another slosh of wine and let’s get started making Lemon Pie in a Blender.

 

Ingredients

 

1 whole lemon, NOT PEELED, washed, seeded, and chopped (no need to overdo the chopping.  That’s why we use a blender!) 

4 large eggs

½ cup butter, melted (1 stick)

1 teaspoon of vanilla (just in case you’ve not perfected your sloshing technique)

1 ½ cups sugar, or two generous hand-fulls

 

1 deep dish piecrust, either store bought or home made….recipe below.

 

Heat the oven to 350ºF or 180º C

 

Toss all the ingredients, except the piecrust!, in the blender and blend well.

 

Pour the lemon mixture in the piecrust and entrust it to the oven for 40 minutes.

 

NOTE:  If you’re using a store bought piecrust, follow the package directions for thawing or not thawing.

 

 

Because I am not a greedy man, I shared this pie with my significant other. She got one piece.  No sense in overdoing this sharing stuff.

 

Pastry Crust:

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour

large pinch of sea salt

8 tablespoons of butter, cut into bits

6 tablespoons cold water

 

Put all the ingredients, except the water, in a food processor and pulse until all is blended. Should look like coarse meal.

 

Put the water in by spoon-full to spread it around.  Pulse again until the dough clumps together.  Roll it out thinly on a surface dusted with flour. 

 

So simple!  You will find yourself using this flaky crust over and over.

 

 

How to rid yourself of culinary inhibitions and become a careless cook:

 

Your training begins with a big glass of wine…..

 

“Well,” you ask, “what if I’m making breakfast?”

 

In that case you have two choices. Either postpone the time you choose to break your fast, or slap your face to jar your memory that wine is really only grape juice that has been carefully cared for.