They say confession is good for the soul….
In my opinion, whoever is spouting that glib phrase at me is just trying to get me to give up the dirt.
Mothers say that to errant children, trying to find out who ate the entire chocolate cake intended for a company dinner.
Schoolteachers say that to mischievous children, trying to find out who drew an unflattering portrait of them on the blackboard.
Cops say that to the folks they arrest, in hopes of having them admit to the crime and make their job easier.
Confession must be good for the soul….
Because it most certainly is not good, in any other way, shape or form, for the confessor.
It almost always results in embarrassment and punishment for the person confessing….
And a wave of self-righteousness for the person engineering the confession.
Now, you are wondering, is there a point to this blathering?
The point is, that most readers will have skipped down to the pasta by this point and missed my confession.
Since I doubt it will be good for my soul, I see no reason to put it in the headlines. Buried down here will accomplish the task with minimum actual exposure.
I may have mentioned, just in passing, the fact that mon mari has, um, discovered himself locked in the bathroom, unable to get out without help from yours truly, on more than one (four, actually) occasion.
It only seems fair to admit my own, um, learning challenge.
It has become my task to keep the home fires burning.
I have the stove figured out pretty well now; I know which little dial opens which vent and how to get a good bed of coals going so the big logs burn, unattended, for hours.
What I seem to be having some difficulty with is the relationship (some might say, obvious) between the fire which heats the house by heating the stove and the stove being hot.
I admire the 'good, hot fire' in the stove, then reach for the handle with my bare hands to add another log.
Oh, I'm not totally oblivious.
I always tap the handle, first; like one would tap an iron to see if it was hot enough to use.
Then I grab and open… Forgetting that something not hot enough to burn on a tap is still hot enough to burn on a grab.
There is, of course, a tool furnished with the stove for the express purpose of opening the hot doors.
But, always in a rush, I can't be bothered to take the extra 3 or 4 seconds to use it.
It's much more efficient to use my hands.
Then spend 10 minutes running around the house looking for something cold to put on my hot little fingertips.
It's not hot enough to cause blisters…. Just hot enough to cause pain and cursing.
How many times have I done this?
Let's just leave it at more than once….
Now, if you want to count something spectacular, how about the 100 week anniversary of Presto Pasta Nights? This celebration is being held by the founder, Ruth, of Once Upon A Feast. Join the party on Friday, her place….
This is creamy orzo is meant to be a pasta course in an Italian meal, a side dish in an American meal.
Risotto-Style Orzo with Prosciutto serves 2
1 tbs butter
1/2 cup orzo
1/2 cup white wine
3/4 cups chicken stock
1 slice Prosciutto
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1 tbs chives
Finely chop the onion. Roughly chop the Prosciutto. Melt butter over medium-high heat in small saucepan. Add the onion and sauté until tender, about 5 minutes. Add orzo and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add wine, stock, chives, Prosciutto and bring to a simmer on medium heat. Turn heat to low and simmer until done, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. All stock will be absorbed. Stir in cheese. Remove from heat and serve. This will be creamy, not stiff.
Five more days until the big move….
But we're not counting that, either….