Stay up well past your bedtime.
Put in a full day of work the next day, and then head straight to Cardio Karate, where you punch, jab, block, and round-kick your way into exhaustion.
Do not go home directly to shower and make dinner. Instead, go to not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR markets to pick up your food for the week. (Because tonight you really do need cream cheese from Zingerman’s, English peas from the Produce Station, pork chops from Sparrow Market, and organic raisin bran from Trader Joe’s.) Go home and put away the groceries. Rather than cooking up something from the ingredients you just brought home, notice half a head of raddichio that should have been eaten last week, feel really guilty, and decide to start experimenting.
Chop and fry some applewood smoked bacon. Put aside and wipe out that pan. Rifle through the fridge, stealing tastes here and there of said bacon. Heat up olive oil in the pan and add some chopped shallots. Then . . . uh . . . add that sad radicchio, and sautee until soft. Realize that you still have no idea what you are cooking.
Spot some open but past-drinkable Pinotage on the counter and decide to add that to the pan. Bring to a boil and simmer until nearly all liquid has evaporated.
Taste.
Get depressed.
Add salt.
Realize that you should probably put a pot of water on to boil, because dinner must just end up being buttered noodles. When the water boils, drop in some penne with a shrug. Really–what do you have to lose?
Open a can of plum tomatoes, chop a few, then several more, and throw them into the radicchio mixture. Warm through for 7 minutes, stirring occasionally. Toss in the crisped bacon — well, what’s left of it.
When the penne is done, drain and add it to the bacon-radicchio-tomato-shallot sauce (?) and combine. Dish some out, grate some parmesan cheese on top, open a bottle of wine, and promise yourself not to make a habit of such desultory dinners.
Go to bed a little hungry and incredibly exhausted, yet plan tomorrow night’s menu (pork chops with braised fennel) before your head hits the pillow.
Gastronomical Three 