Tuesday 16 March
Despite coming home late (emergency Aristophanes!), we had our hearts set on Red Gravy. Red Gravy is the name the Squiglios (pronounced Squiglios) gave to marinara. That way you know it's authentically Eye-talian (Barbara was raised by a pack of wild Napolitani who found her wondering in the jungle—not wandering, just wondering).
So your basic big ol' baked ziti. Tomatoes, sautéed onions, garlic, oregano, and amazingly a fistful of basil from our little window box of herbs, which has given us a touch of fresh green all winter long and is feeling the first rustles of spring (Christian Sinding—you played it too, you know you did). Then the last of whatever tubular pasta we had, all mixed with whatever scraps of cheese could be grated. Then topped with the rest of said cheese ("cheese"). Yes, it dirtied far more dishes than our Zen ideal (did you include the colander in your subtotal?). Yes, it took longer than it might for a late night. Yes, it was very good. Yes, it was Barbara's night to do all the dishes. Did I mention the colander?
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