Dear Smitten Kitchen,
Please stop creeping into the inner recesses of my cluttered food obsessed mind and showing up with things like THIS.
Do you have any idea what this does to me? It's baked rigatoni with tiny meatballs. AND Marcella Hazan. I have no power over such things. It's as if you're speaking directly to me, or at least my food me.
Maybe if I explain something to you, you'll back off a little.
I've started going to the gym again.
It's been over a decade since I've stepped foot inside one of those places. It's a fine gym, as far as that kind of establishment goes. But it's still smells like a gym and feels like the kind of place where with every step on the elliptical, every pull on the lateral arm something, or grip of a sweaty barbell I'm reminded how ridiculously vain I must be. Why else would I do something I detest?
I used to run when I was younger. I hated it. Never experience the "runners high" everyone kept talking about. When I used to go to the gym religiously, again...hated it. Once, the guy at the front desk commented on how I was the only person he had ever seen in the place spend so little time working out and more time at the gym cafe. My response, Don't have a cafe.
I'm telling you, because today I noticed THIS on your blog.
A chocolate peanut butter tart. Kudos. It will go great with my main course of rigatoni and delicious shame. I will then go back to the gym, which by the way is in Los Angeles. In the heart of the entertainment Los Angeles, not the suburban part. In the part where people only instagram food from other instagram photos, not from actual food they eat.
I looking forward to your next salad installment. BTW, the rigatoni freezes nicely. Thank you.