One Man’s Meat

I was at Cobb’s Comedy Club last week and Shawn Wayans compared cheating to Chinese cooking. He said he didn’t get why people kicked such a big fuss when their partners cheat. Usually, when that happens, couples are at that stage where they don’t even talk or have sex anymore. That partner is basically like “old Chinese food,” he says. It’s been in the fridge forever, but after someone throws in some soya sauce, stir-fries it, makes it new and smell all good again, you look at that person and say, “Hey, that’s my Chinese food.” LMAO.

Anyway, his joke reminded me that I had some teriyaki chicken and lettuce leftover from lunch at Sushi Nara on Polk Street a couple of days ago. If I didn’t do something with them, they would soon go bad.

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All You Need is Patience

Have you ever had a hug so tight and so warm it made you feel all fuzzy inside?

That’s how eating a plate of well-made Risotto Ai Funghi Porcini makes me feel — like every mouthful is a hug that makes you feel so warm and loved that you want to hug the person who made it for you. That’s probably the reason I wanted to learn to make it — I crave carebear-type love! LOL.

The recipe itself seems straightforward enough; first, you cook the mushrooms, then you cook the rice. In the final step, you throw both together and voila, you have a slightly nutty, slightly glutinous plate of chestnut brown goodness. Unfortunately, in this case, the cliche — the devil’s in the details — is very true.

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A Wild Repast

Boletus edulis. Penny bun. Cep. Or otherwise, porcini. The Italian language, with its singsong quality and highs and lows, has a way of bringing to the surface the character of the thing it is describing.

Porr. Ch. Nee. There is something fun and cheeky about the crescendo and staccato stop of each syllable, yet the experience of the entire word brings a seriousness and fullness of purpose — as if the mushroom is a unique individual in its own right and its name validates that uniqueness.

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