A friend of mine had me over for dinner a couple months.  He’s a dear friend, at the time still in his senior year at Carolina, and while I love him tremendously, I wasn’t expect anything gourmet as I walked up the stairs to his second floor apartment.  He opened the door with hands dripping with soapy water.  I started browning the ground turkey for the “meat” sauce.

<sidenote>I absolutely despise most red pasta sauces.  Generally, a white sauce has enough butter and/or cream that you may not notice inadequate flavoring, but a red sauce is not nearly so forgiving.  Meat can help but never cure a failing sauce, and most of the time, I find red sauces to be nothing more than glorified ketchup that we cover our noodles with.  No, thanks.  A pasta sauce needs time, vegetables, spices, and preferably some wine to really bring out the richness of the tomatoes.</sidenote>

Before I knew it, I was that person I’ve always wanted to be.  I was hunting through his fridge for carrots, grinding pepper into the sauce, and sprinkling in some dried basil.  The sauce was delicious (in my opinion), but the experience was life-giving.  I took something bland, and with a little creativity made something I loved.

At any given moment, any number of things can occur in our lives.  There are jobs, friends, family, chores, and sadly, crises.  And although I find the phrase “bringing it back to the table” extremely annoying, I think there is something unique and special about food.  It demands that you stop… for just a moment, and enjoy a very temporal pleasure.  During the meal, time seems to stop.  You talk about what you eat, you look at what you eat, you hear the sizzle of the oil in the pan, you feel the textures on your tongue, you smell the food as it cooks, and most of all, you taste it.  It’s an incredible sensory experience, and I can’t imagine how I forgot about this.  For far too long, food has been a chore, something I’m supposed to do and not at all something I enjoy.

Since you’re reading this, I doubt you’ve forgotten how much you love food.  But whether you’re eating pre-made chinese on your couch, enjoying the smell of scones baking, or nursing a beer as you write a blog post (all of which I’ve done tonight, I’m proud to say), take a moment… make something… and just enjoy it. 

My darling sister is resolved that a cook cannot take credit for a dish unless the recipe is original.  Although I most heartily disagree with that sentiment, I do find myself ridden with guilt when serving a dish that is “semi-homemade”.  Nonetheless, I think you, the reader, deserves to know how frequently I “cheat”, and how impressed everyone is with the food.

When I was in high school, I found a recipe for stromboli dough, and slaved in the kitchen an entire afternoon in order to serve a fresh stromboli, stuffed with veggies, meat, and cheese.  For a couple years, at least, this recipe was frequently requested for birthday dinners and special occasion meals.  Each time, I’d spend 4 hours waiting for dough to rise, kneading, more waiting, rolling, stuffing, more waiting, baking… and then, frequently risk a doughy center (read: disaster!).

… then one day, I grew up, packed my bags, headed to the big city of Chapel Hill, enrolled in college, and wised up.  In the deli/bakery of your typical grocery, they have pre-made pizza dough for a dollar or two.  Roll, stuff, bake.  Period.  It smells every bit as delicious as homemade, and when it comes out of the oven, people “oo” and “ah” as though you had spent those 4 hours covered in flour.  … and if you want to let them keep on believing it, I certainly won’t tell.

Photo by Nathan Clendenin

… so that’s it.  No recipe.  Stuff it with any kind of cheesy, veggie, meaty goodness you see fit.  Brush with beaten egg for a nice, shiny, golden brown crust.