One of HG’s favorite New Yorker cartoons: A piece of Penne Rigate is on the phone saying: “Hey, Fusilli, you crazy bastard, how are you?”. Don’t know why but it makes HG smile every time HG dredges it from HG’s memory bank. Last night was a Fusilli festival at the Rhode Island home of HG/BSK’s gifted daughter, Lesley R,, and her brilliant husband, Profesore Massimo R. (HG/BSK are living with them until the move from New Mexico is complete). Lesley cooked a rich and delicious pot of Fusilli in cauliflower sauce for dinner. The sauce was exemplary–generous quantities of olive oil, butter, garlic and herbs. It became picante with sprinkles of Aleppo pepper. With old age, HG’s stomach has shrunk and HG is no longer the super hearty trencherman (or “trencherperson”) of the past. Sometimes, generous Lesley forgets. She served HG a mountain–Everest proportions–of the lush Fusilli. HG did his best (it was so yummy) but could only finish a fraction. Didn’t go to waste. Had the rest for lunch the next day.
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