When the going gets tough...

The tough make pasta. Or at least in my case. Comfort food, 100% fail-safe. Lately the only foods that I have been able or willing to prepare revolve around this very basic staple. It is funny. There is this strange phenomenon that occurs when you consort with people from all over the world on a regular basis. Invariably there are misunderstandings of basic decorum and cultural expectations. Take yesterday for example, it was a birthday party, and perhaps I am just weird, but adult birthday parties in my world have never required actual presents, but rather a bottle of wine or flowers, whatever. I mean, if it is a big deal, I suppose, oh I don't know, once you have children those are the distinctions, kids get presents, adults liquor... so anyway, I felt totally weird and out of place, when not only was everyone bearing large gifts, but apparently, the birthday "boy" and his gf, who had thrown the party, just got married on a whim the Tuesday before, but failed to mention this to all invitees. Doubly awkward. We had Paella, tortilla, gazpacho, and ensaladilla rusa, plus far too much sangría which was, unbeknownst to me, spiked with a hearty dose of gin. No wonder I was feeling flushed after only two glasses. En fin. For them, of course this was comfort food, the staples. But not for me.

I was asked, as I often am, being the master chef that I am (ha ha - no really I am not bad, but certainly my ego isn't that big) "what would be considered typical american food?" and I, as usual, was at a loss. See, I don't know what typical american food is because I hardly think I could be considered a "typical" american. (shudder, shudder). My general response is that "american" food is most likely something like macaroni and cheese, spaghetti and meatballs, hamburgers (which I never ever make) and then what???

Most kids of my generation, that is, the latch-key kids who marched home in mini armadas and played on their own for the long afternoons of their childhood, as their upwardly mobile parents put in long hours at the office, probably ate a lot of pasta, much like I did. And maybe they even cringed in the falling darkness of their dens, as the blue flicker of the television baby-sat, with a kitchen knife by their side, just in case... or maybe that was just me. Anyhow, I have been feeling rather uninspired in the kitchen of late, and while I am getting closer to the perfect "tuco" (still keep trying, still don't have a good set of instructions but would be open to suggestions) this time I realized that I should have blanched and peeled the tomatoes because their skins rolled up into pointy bristles which ruined the texture and required the picking of teeth. But I made this with a little bit of carrot, onion, tomato, garlic and olive oil, throwing in mushrooms for good measure (ok, there are a few food objects that I can never have too much of: mushrooms, garlic, and cheese being three of these). And we had gnocchis. I didn't make them froms scratch, though I should have because the frozen trader-joe ones didn't cut it. They were too starchy and sweet, and little I. spit them unceremoniously back out onto her plate. Good thing there was grilled salmon, too, or she would have gone hungry. Then the next day I made K.'s family recipe with fresh basil, garlic, tomatoes (this time blanched, peeled, seeded and chopped), olive oil and grated parmesan and romano. This is a cold salad tossed with farfalle, and never ever disappoints, but it is better if the pasta is boiled with some garlic and salt prior to inclusion in the salad. Now, K. has all my respect, she is what one could call a kick-ass chef, just check out her pie recipes here.

And the following evening I. had me make her lovely organic white-cheddar macaroni and cheese, which of course I had to doctor up with sauteed artichoke hearts and ham (turkey ham, actually) on the side. She was not into the briny artichokes even though regular artichokes, boiled and dipped in butter (no wonder) are one of the few green vegetables that I can get my little carnivore to eat with zeal. She'll also eat avocado on her quesadillas, and broccoli (only in cheddar soup) but I swear I don't know from whose womb this child came, because I have always loved vegetable, alas, perhaps it is just a phase.

So tonight, after lounging about, marginally clothed, all day, not doing the reading that I had proposed to myself, but watching an interesting movie about a stalker and a freak hot-air-balloon accident, and the origins of love and obsession: Enduring Love, directed by Roger Michell, based on the book by Ian McEwan. I felt guilty about not making any food for the tribe, and it came to me, the most american of american meals. Tuna noodle casserole, only I didn't have anything but the no-boil lasagna noodles, and lacking the requisite frozen peas I put my atrophying little brain to work. Mind you, this is a better version than what I had as a child, but this is, amusingly, the first meal I learned to cook all on my own (age 9?) and I would make it to help out my mom and dad, so they wouldn't have to cook when they got home at 7 or 8 pm on most nights. (another aside: I am certain that many of my abandonment issues stem from being left alone for so long, and for always being the last child picked up from the after-school programs, which is why, at age 8, I insisted that I no longer needed anyone else to care for me, but that I could do it myself - with my big brother, that is).

So here it went, a white sauce base of condensed mushroom soup, two cans of albacore tuna (yes, I know about the mercury thing, and now, it would seem that sunblock interferes with endocrine function... i can't win, everything is going to give me cancer or in its lieu some other deadly disease, screw it!) with water, 1/4 a cup of sour cream, sauteed crimini mushroom and onions, lightly salted, half a cup of frozen broccoli chopped, and a handful of left-over (not requisite that it be left-over) basil, finely chopped, with a half cup of grated parmesan. I lay this over the lasagna, spreading the sauce thin, making three levels and on top, sliced provolone for the gratinee effect. Considering that there was little else available for rapid preparation, it was not bad, and indeed, a bizarre american sincretic concoction, just like me:)