A while back, I blathered on about stopping all the Paleo diet inspired, Sugar Nazi hate on the potato, and in the process shared my Soiled Hash Browns (they taste better than they sound, trust me). They were good, but require a lot of skillet watching. So for lunch today I made up a “roasted” version that was way easier. Check out the potato loving easiness of my Soiled Roasted Potatoes & Vegetables…
This morning I found the above photo of Gianni Motta downing some pasta while racing, and I have to say it makes the perfect intro photo for today’s Cat 5 Cooking post on Spaghetti alla Puttanesca.
Spaghetti alla Puttanesca translates into “whore’s spaghetti ” or what my favorite voluptuous, turned thin(ish) recreational drug using celebrity chef Nigella Lawson calls “Slut’s Spaghetti.” I’m not real sure why slut is better than whore, but I digress. When a dish translates into a combination of pasta and whorism* I’m all in.
As you may or may not know, I hesitate to call my riding, time on the trainer and in the gym “training.” I suppose it sort of is, but I think of it more as “doing stuff” so as not to get even fatter… and an attempt to get back to just mildly embarrassing myself on the bike next season (oppose to completely embarrassing myself as I did in 2013). Having once again said that disclaimer of my slackness and douchery I can get to the post at hand…
I made this up in less than 10 minutes after the gym today. Some chicken or beef in it would have been nice, but for a quick lunch it was pretty OK. Then again, after last night’s meatloaf binge and 2 a.m. case of the meat sweats, I was just fine with meatless version. Who knew you could excrete ground beef and pork through your pores???
I love pasta and I am done trying pretend that I don’t, or that I can eat Primal or Paleo for more than a week or two before I realize that life is too short to not eat pasta (or beans for that matter). I’m sorry, but Italians have been eating the stuff forever and Italy has produced some pretty freaking legendary cyclists– none of which I recall being fat in their racing days. So as I often say on this blog (and in my daily life) “fuck it.” Or in this case, “Fuck it, I’m eating pasta.” Moderation and miles on the bike seems to work best for crushing pasta and not having to move up a belt size.