7pm: have brilliant idea to make bolognese for dinner Thursday night. Scour hard drive for secret recipe and pat self on back for being so clever.
8.14pm: find secret recipe while on a commercial break during the season finale of “America’s Next Top Model”. Applaud self for having DVR and ability to FFWD through commercials for that diet thingy that Kim Kardashian is promoting.
8.15pm: practice self loathing upon realizing that I’m watching the season finale of “America’s Next Top Model”. And actually care who wins. And know who Kim Kardashian is.
12.00 noon: arrive at the food of wholeness after being cut off for the last parking space by a Prius with an Obama sticker on the back (aka: EVERY Prius in southern California). So much for change.
12.17pm: purchase 8 pounds of vegetables and wonder what the cashier smoked on his lunch break and wonder if he has any extra.
12.28pm: order 2 lbs each of veal and pork from Huntington Meats.
12.29pm: wonder if spending time as a child watching my grandfather castrate steers on his cattle ranch has impaired my ability to date appropriately.
1.00pm: finish stray dishes and unpack groceries. Note time.
1.07pm: bring laptop out of office and into the kitchen for facebook stalking while cooking. wonder if it’s a crime....yet.
1.10pm: invite Gay Boyfriend over for as-yet-not-started bolognese. Tonight.
1.11pm: note on recipe that making just the soffritto will take four hours. Wonder if counting on fingers indicates math idiocy.
1.14pm: start chopping 8 pounds of vegetables: 4 pounds onion, 2 pounds celery, 2 pounds carrots. Approximate chop time at roughly 30 minutes.
1.44pm: note that only maybe 3 onions have been diced. Check email and decide not to pay student loan this month in lieu of buying new Staub mussel pot.
4.07pm: finish dicing vegetables and post picture to facebook. Expect to be on Top Chef next season alongside Harvey the imaginary bunny. Wish Jimmy Stewart were boyfriend. Remember he’s not really available being dead and all.
4.08pm: count (obviously on fingers) how many hours it will take to make the soffritto before even starting the bolo itself. Ignore sinking feeling in stomach.
4.09pm: text Gay Boyfriend, “So I’m like six hours from the bolo being ready. Do you want to do tomorrow night instead?”
4.09pm and 45 seconds: get text response from Gay Boyfriend, “So sad that neither of us has a hot date on a Friday night.” Think Gay Boyfriend IS hot Friday night date. Wonder again about the castrated cattle.
4.11pm: give cat treats. Question if it’s possible to inhabit EVERY cliche in the book.
4.15pm: olive oil hits the Le Creuset.
4.16pm: dance around to “Day In, Day Out”.
4.17pm: retroactively make sure no one can see into loft.
4.18pm: call Bossy Blonde to ask about soffritto boiling and to complain about the amount of chopping. Hear crickets momentarily and then, “didn’t you read the recipe? Didn’t it say you could throw everything but the onion in a food processor?”
4.19pm: ask the universe for two and a half hours of life back. Flash back to “directions taking” test in second grade where the first direction is “read all directions before starting this test” and remember first epic FAIL.
4.45pm: stir the pot. Literally, not figuratively.
5.15pm: stir again.
6.19pm: and again.
6.59pm: .....yawn, again.
7.18pm: scream out loud after hearing Kelly Bensimon’s very non-blonde “blonde moment” about lemons and lemonade and cliches. Secretly want to make out with Bethenney after hearing her response. Thank the universe for citrus fruit and television crews. And gifts from Jesus.
8.01pm: thank lucky stars about canceling tonight’s dinner because at least still four hours from completing sauce.
9.01pm: wonder if Lunesta will kick in before the sauce is finished. Hope for amnesia as a side effect of the drug.
11.01pm: take very oily (did it reduce at ALL?) soffritto off the stove to cool before putting in fridge.
1.49am: remove sauce from pot and place in deli containers in the fridge. Vow never to make bolo again.
sometime between 2am and 6am: have ANOTHER random dream about Ben Kingsley and Cyprus, not to be confused with Cypress. Realize dreams are very, very specific and that Psychiatric help may not be such an unneeded self indulgence after all.
10.44am (1.44pm NYC time): send iPhone pic of soffritto with “is it done yet?” message to Bossy Blonde. Get return phone call with a decided response of “no”.
10.47am: return soffritto to stove.
2.47pm: soffritto is sufficiently stewed and removed from the heat.
3.02pm: let the bolo games begin!!!
3.12pm: rethink yesterday’s assertion that there must be white wine in the fridge upon realization that I don’t drink white wine. Say thanks to the universe for friends that bring stuff I don’t like when they come over and that I then forget about after it goes into the black hole that is my fridge.
3.14pm: start drinking the unused white wine.
3.17pm: really like the white wine and make resolution to drink more frequently while cooking, since it’s a lot more fun.
4.56pm: Monkey destroys yet ANOTHER roll of toilet paper in the guest bathroom. *please note this is an earlier picture of the bad kitty for reference purposes only.
7.27pm: Gay Boyfriend arrives with Pudin de Pan (Cuban Bread Pudding) and an empty belly.
7.40pm: bolo is served on fresh pasta with a nice rose wine.
7.50pm: pretend bolo is the easiest recipe on the planet and vow to forget the pain, like women in child birth do.