Sunday, March 17, 2013

Dinner for one

The soul that sees beauty must sometimes walk alone.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Eat alone too. Trust me, I've been there.

I'm reluctant to go public with this, but for a lot of years now, when I am all by myself around the dinner hour, particularly after an emotionally trying day, I seek comfort inside, well... a six-ounce can of tomato paste.

There, I said it.

I toss a whole lot of olive oil and an onion into my favorite quick-fry pan, the one that I picked up at a used restaurant equipment warehouse years back. Once the onions are nice and soft I pop open a can of my favorite paste (Pastosa from New York) and apply anywhere from half to two-thirds of the contents to the saute.

Toss in some just-cooked pasta (what, you were expecting sanddabs?) and stir.

And there you have it. A beautiful thing.

Fine, don't eat it with me. Nobody else around here will either.

That headline is there for a reason, you know.


Fred said...

I prefer to buy my tomato paste in a tube, especially when I can get the double concentrated style from Italy. Unfortunately, I don't go to Italy on a regular enough basis. So how do you, Dottore Polpetta, store a half used can of tomato paste?

Mister Meatball said...

Let's just say "collateral damage" and leave it at that.

Anonymous said...

Add a little more pasta and you have enough for my hubs and myself..It looks great to me, I love ricotta cheese, I would top it with that and a shave of parmesan cheese..Some good bread and call it a nice small dinner! Happy St. Patricks day to you, love your blog read it all the time. ciao!!!!!!!!!!

Unknown said...

You can freeze it. Just scrape the remains from the can into a small container or plastic bag and put it in the freezer. Then when you need it, you can just take it out and toss it into the pot. Works like a charm.

Claudia said...

This works a lot better for me than corned beef and cabbage.

Jack said...

Love it. I've been doing similarly (& surreptiously) since the mid-60s.

My Irish grandmother, raised in Brooklyn early in the last century, and

a Sunday-Gravy Artist to be reckoned with, IMHO, would smack me one if

she knew...

Sadly, she's safe from such disappointments. But even in these degenerate

times I attempt the real thing at least once a month. Your (recently dis-

covered) blog can't but help - When the complaints start rolling in you'll

know who to blame...