Lasagna lust, lasagna penance.
Yesterday evening at supper I satisfied a long-denied craving for a piece of lasagna. Since I no longer make it myself (I would devour the whole baking dish!), I bought a nice-looking one-pound piece sold at the Ruggieri's Market Italian deli-case.
The lasagna was liberally layered with ground beef, tomato sauce, ricotta, mozzarella. I put the one-pound brick into the oven, drowned it in Sunday's chunky tomato sauce that was flavored with pork, and let it heat slowly for about forty minutes. I turned it onto a plate, covered it with grated pecorino-romano. I sat down in front of it, contemplated it, and then assaulted it. Rarely has anything I've eaten in recent months produced such intense orgasmic pleasure. I had no contorno except some unseasoned Brussels sprouts...I love them! Dessert was one slice of juicy honeydew.
Today I perform my atonement. Barefoot in sackcloth, I walk a penitential peregrination amid ashes in a vale of incense smoke, flagellating myself with knotted rope, chanting the Dies Irae, eating locusts, and returning home to sleep on a bed of nails.
The lasagna was liberally layered with ground beef, tomato sauce, ricotta, mozzarella. I put the one-pound brick into the oven, drowned it in Sunday's chunky tomato sauce that was flavored with pork, and let it heat slowly for about forty minutes. I turned it onto a plate, covered it with grated pecorino-romano. I sat down in front of it, contemplated it, and then assaulted it. Rarely has anything I've eaten in recent months produced such intense orgasmic pleasure. I had no contorno except some unseasoned Brussels sprouts...I love them! Dessert was one slice of juicy honeydew.
Today I perform my atonement. Barefoot in sackcloth, I walk a penitential peregrination amid ashes in a vale of incense smoke, flagellating myself with knotted rope, chanting the Dies Irae, eating locusts, and returning home to sleep on a bed of nails.