It started with browsing in the seafood department.
I had my list, but my compulsion ordered me up and down every aisle.
There they were, on a little bed of ice: Bay scallops.
So, I asked the fishmonger (okay, the Price Chopper Guy) for a quarter of a pound. He gave me a third of a pound, but I didn’t mind.
I went about my shopping, and devised a plan.
I struggled up the stairs with my $4o in groceries, paused to fill a pan with water and set it to boil. As waited for the water to boil, I put the groceries away, careful not to watch the pot.
I added a pinch of salt to the water and then a handful of whole grain pasta.
I gathered all my ingredients, ordering them by need. When they were assembled on the counter, I oiled my sautee pan, threw in the scallops and added enough garlic to give the sauce a kick.
Testing the scallops for doneness, I tasted the brine of the New England sea. Tender, but chewy, they were about ready.
Next came the vodka sauce. I poured too much in and thought of Mario Batali’s admonishment that sauce should be a condiment to the pasta, not saturate it like soup, but I shrugged. There’s no such thing as too much sauce.
The sauce popped in the pan while I drained the spaghetti in my bright blue colander and carefully brought it back the stove.
I flicked my wrist and watched the sauce fold over the pasta. Not as graceful as I’ve seen on Iron Chef, but it will do.
When I pour the concoction into a bowl, it does look like soup. It’s so hot, my hand burns through the bowl.
As I wait for it to cool, I sit down and write a blog entry, but it’s cool now, so the writing must stop.