I'm not much of a fan of the fascination with all things "instant". I prefer the tried and true method of slow cooking. Start with good ingredients, follow a good recipe, a family recipe passed down from your little Sicilian Nonna. Season with some garden fresh herbs, a little salt and pepper, and there you have it.
The ingredients really are the key. You can follow the best recipe, use the freshest basil you can find, but if the chicken you start with is crap... Well, you know where this is heading.
And you know, if you've been reading along (and I know that you have) that the last couple of innings of this game we call parenthood have been just a little bit stressful for this "Bottom of the Ninth" gal.
Which is why, when two giant sized offensive linemen came up to me in the Shortstop Deli ( a great place for a sandwich if you ever find yourself in Ithaca, New York) where I was waiting with my brand new freshman football player and his equally brand new roommate... when two ginormous 6' 6", 320 pounds worth of humans walked up to me, a somewhat smallish, Italian mama who was waiting for a couple of turkey sandwiches, and extended their hands, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Inaudible, perhaps, to those who do not know me, but a sigh none the less.
"I'm Dom," the larger one said.
"I'm Doc," the somewhat smaller but still quite large one added.
Good ingredients.
"Nice to meet you," I said, and the four of them, the two very large upper class, seasoned veteran behemoths and the two, somewhat smaller, brand spanking new wet behind the ears freshman football players launched into conversation, a dialect all their own.
Instant family. He's going to be just fine.
