"Everything I am I owe to pasta."You know who said that?Sophia Loren.I’ve had a crush on her for a long time. My Uncle Oscar once sat next to her on an airplane. They flew from New York to Rome. A long flight, for sure.But if I were sitting next to Sophia Loren, I would have been praying that we’d get stuck on the tarmac for a few days.Or better yet--crash into the ocean, where just the two of us would be stuck on a small, deserted island for the rest of our lives, where I'd cook for her every day on an open fire on the beach next to our thatched hut while the waves gently wash on the shore as the sun sets gracefully on the horizon while I play my guitar (that miraculously washed ashore) as we drink wine that I made from wild grapes that I discovered when we were bathing in a nearby waterfall.I can dream, can’t I?Sophia Loren loves pasta. So do I.The key to eating pasta on a regular basis is…don’t eat a wheelbarrow full. Italians eat small amounts of pasta. Italian restaurants in America serve buckets full of pasta, all covered in cheese and sauce and goo.Take your hands. Cup them together. That’s the amount of pasta you should put on a plate--unless you're four feet tall and have hands the size of Shaquille O'Neal's.Let me tell you a little story, a heart-warming tale about a boy, a bike and a zucchini.I was living in Nashville. I rode my bike to the post office. I dropped off some thank you notes—I write a lot of them, I have a lot to be thankful for—and saw some beautiful mums outside the fruit and vegetable stand across the street.
I walked in to the red and white striped tent, and there were so many vegetables and fruits; fresh, ripe, colorful, local…it was amazing. They had baskets and baskets of home grown tomatoes. So much stuff to choose from.Only one problem…All I had was a five-dollar bill in my pocket.So, I picked out a green zucchini, a yellow summer squash, and a brown eggplant. I had enough left over for a bulb of garlic and a shallot. The total was four bucks and change. I put the stuff in my messenger bag and rode my bike home.It was a beautiful fall day in Nashville; sunny, cool, and clear. On my way home, I stopped by a friend’s restaurant, a great place called Mafioza's. These mobsters grow basil outside in planters that border the entrance. I picked a small handful, put it in my bag, and rode my bike home in a hail of bullets, ducking and weaving.I got back to the shack and decided to make a little sauce. I put the sauce over pasta, but keep in mind, you can use a dish like this for anything…a side dish, on bruschetta, on pizza, over rice, as an appetizer, on your corn flakes…use your imagination.
The sauce was delizioso. Batu loved it. Start to finish, it took 30 minutes. And it cost about five bucks. My kinda dish!I added some freshly grated carrots, about a ¼ cup, for a little color, and a little crunch.This should serve about three people, unless those people are teenage boys, in which case this will serve one.
INGREDIENTS1 green zucchini, ends cut off, chopped into 1” triangular pieces (about a cup and a half)1 yellow summer squash, ends cut off, chopped into 1” triangular pieces (about a cup and a half)1 small eggplant, ends cut off, chopped into 1” triangular pieces (about a cup and a half)1/4 cup fresh grated carrotsSmall handful of fresh basil4 tablespoons of olive oil6 cloves of garlic, peeled, sliced into thin slices, about 1 1/2 tablespoons1 small shallot, peeled, minced, about 1 1/2 tablespoons1/3 cup of white wine1 cup of broth (chicken or vegetable)¾ pound of spaghetti, or fusilli, or farfalleSalt and crushed red pepper
Here we go...Put a large saute pan over medium-low heat. Add the olive oil.Add the garlic and shallots and some crushed red pepper (to taste), cook for 3 or 4 minutes, until the shallots are clear, and the garlic is pale gold.Turn the heat to high for 1 minute. Then add the white wine, let it cook off for a minute or two.Turn the heat down to medium-low, add all the vegetables.Add the stock, and salt to taste.Let it cook over medium-low heat for ten minutes. Stir every so often.Taste the vegetables. You want them firm--not crunchy (underdone) or mushy (overdone).Adjust for salt and pepper.Take your basil, and snip it with scissors right into the sauce. Give it a stir.Remove from the heat.If you want to use this over pasta, get a large pot, fill it with cold water and put it on the highest heat you got.When the water comes to a boil, add a couple tablespoons of salt (I use Kosher salt, not for religious reasons—I just like the way it tastes).Then add your pasta. Stir it up every few minutes, so it doesn't stick together. People should stick together, pasta should not.When the pasta is al dente—firm to the bite--drain it in a colander.Put the pasta in a large bowl. Drizzle with a little olive oil and mix it up.Add most of the sauce, save a large spoonful for each plate (save three large spoonfuls).Mix it up. Then plate it up!Put a small amount on a plate. Add a spoonful of sauce on top. You can add some freshly grated cheese if you like—Parmigiano-Reggiano or Romano—and…
MANGIAMO!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Pasta Carbonara
Pasta Carbonara with Normy and Sam at Odessa
It was by far the biggest paying gig ever offered to the Slim Men. Not only that, but the promoter was going to put us up in a nice hotel, and buy us all dinner and drinks at the club after the show.The club was called Odessa. It was a fine-dining, elegant nightclub/restaurant in Laguna Beach, California. Swanky.Because it was so swanky and brand spanking new, and because they were paying us a lot of do-re-mi, we decided to pull out all the stops. We invited some guest soloists — guitarist Richard Smith and trumpet player Tony Guerrero.We made sure our shoes were shined, and our suits were pressed, and our wigs were in place. Showtime!John E Coale was on drums. The keyboard player that night was David Bach — it was one of his first shows with us. Mombo Hernandez played percussion. It was crowded, a good turnout of Slim People. Odessa had a 1960s supper-club vibe. Well-dressed guests sat at well-dressed tables and enjoyed dinner as they watched the show. We were scheduled to do two 1-hour sets.We did the first set. We sounded OK — we were just starting to catch our stride when we had to take a break to do a drawing. In between sets, they had scheduled a drawing for dinner with the band after the show. They brought a big fishbowl filled with tickets up to the stage. I picked a number from the bowl and called it out to the crowd. There was a short silence. A guy stood up. He didn’t yell or scream. He just stood up and sauntered to the stage.He was tall and thin, with blond hair. He was dressed casually, and had a loopy grin. He showed me his ticket. He had the winning number. So this guy and his guest were gonna join us for the post-concert dinner and celebration, a little after-party slurp and chew.The Slim Dudes went back on stage and did our second set. There were a couple of rough spots. At one point, Richard Smith came up to me after playing guitar on a couple of songs and said,“Nice trying to play with you.”But the Slim Men pulled it together. The crowd seemed to enjoy themselves. Nobody threw anything at us and nobody left. After the show, we walked over to the restaurant area of the club. They had a huge table set for us. Each setting had more forks and knives than anyone would ever need. I sat next to the couple who won the dinner drawing. It turned out to be quite a conversation.Normy was kinda quiet, and kinda quirky. His wife, Sam, was sweet with a quick smile.Normy and I started talking, and he told me that he made clay models for Porsche. Clay models are what they use to create the shells for the bodies of actual cars. And Normy worked with the designers making new Porsche sports cars. I’d been to the Porsche factory in Stuttgart, Germany. I did a private party there. Normy and I talked about sports cars, clay models, Porsche, Stuttgart, horsepower and how Normy did what he did. It was an intriguing conversation.We ordered food. We got appetizers. We got soups. We got salads. We drank more than a few bottles of wine. We had main courses. We had desserts. We had after-dinner drinks.It must have been around midnight when the waitress – who had been working so hard all night – gave me the bill. I was kinda embarrassed, but I told her that the promoter was picking up the tab. She told me the promoter was nowhere to be found.I got up, and started looking around the club; in front, out back, the men’s room, the ladies’ room, under tables, in the kitchen - I looked everywhere. I called him. I called the hotel. I sent out smoke signals, helicopters, and drones. Promoter dude had vanished.So I took out the old credit card, and prayed that the cops wouldn’t leap out of the woodwork and arrest me on the spot when it got declined. The wine alone must have cost a thousand bucks. Twelve courses for twelve people in a place like that? I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to wash dishes for the rest of my life.My card went through. I didn’t want to chance it with a tip, so we gathered some cash, and gave it to the waitress.We left the club that night a bit weary, kinda dreary, somewhat embarrassed, and a lot lighter in the wallet. We went to our hotel rooms and crashed. The next day, I was checking us all out of the hotel, and discovered the promoter had not paid for the rooms. Ouch.He never sent me the money he owed, and it was a lot. I never heard from him again. I ended up paying the band anyway. It was a huge loss, but…Normy and Sam have become good friends of mine. I’ve seen them at least a couple times a year for the past 15 years. We talk on the phone a couple times a month.They came to Catalina Island a few years ago to see the Slim Man Band at the Jazz Fest. We went out afterwards, and Normy had quite a few festive beverages. In his defense, Catalina doesn’t allow cars, people walk everywhere, so everyone tends to drink a bit more than usual. We were playing pool at a local bar when Normy started shouting at the band,“I LOVE YOU GUYS! I MEAN IT! I REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS!”He kept saying it; over and over, louder and louder. Quiet Norm was so loud and boisterous, that we ended up leaving the pool hall - after some encouragement from the staff and patrons. We walked on to the small streets of Catalina and Normy kept on yelling,“REALLY! I’M NOT JUST SAYING THIS!! I REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS! REALLY!”Sweet Sam finally dragged him back to his hotel room, screaming “I LOVE YOU!” all the way.The next morning, the Slim Man Band had breakfast with Normy and Sam. Normy was unusually quiet, turning whiter shades of pale with each bite. We quietly told him we really loved him, too. Really. To this day, when we see him, that’s what we say.
Normy and Sam pop up a couple times a year at Slim Shows. They don’t ask to be put on the guest list. They don’t call in advance. It’s always a pleasant surprise when they show up. They usually manage to stay in whatever hotel the band is staying.Two weeks ago, I was in Palm Springs, California. Normy and Sam came out to see me play at a super swanky hotel called The Riviera. We had dinner that night after the show. We partied in the hotel room after dinner, drinking wine and whatnot.We had a wonderful time.Here’s the thing - I would never have met Normy and Sam if it weren’t for the Odessa gig.Sure, I lost a ton of dough. But would you trade two good friends for ten grand?Let me think about that one…PASTA CARBONARAIf you’ve been through a tough time, and you need a “What the hell, might as well” sauce, have I got a dish for you.I eat pasta carbonara a couple times a year. Any more than that and you’ll have to walk around with a defibrillator duct-taped to your chest.It’s a heart-stoppin’, artery poppin’ dish, but it’s one of my favorites. As soon as you try it, it’ll be one of your favorites too! This is my own version. I added white wine, which gives it a little kick.I use Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. Most recipes call for Romano, which I find a little too salty for this dish. So I use Parmigiano, which is a little sweeter.The name ‘carbonara’ comes from the Italian word for coal, carbona. Legend has it that coal miners would put a couple of eggs, a piece of pancetta (Italian bacon) and a hunk of cheese in their pockets, and make this dish on their lunch break, using just one pot.Putting eggs in your pocket doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, especially if you’re mining, but what the hell do I know?
INGREDIENTS3 eggs1 cup fresh grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese2 tablespoons fresh Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped8 ounces pancetta, diced into small cubesCrushed red pepper (I start off with ¼ teaspoon)4 cloves of garlic, peeled, and smashed/flattened with the broad side of a knife¼ cup white wine1 pound of spaghettiKosher salt and fresh cracked black pepperHere we go…We’ll do this all in real time.Get a large pot. Fill it with cold water. Put it on the highest heat. This is for the pasta. As it heats up…Get a large bowl, one big enough to hold all the pasta and other goodies.Break the eggs into the bowl. Add the cheese. Add the chopped parsley. Add some fresh cracked black pepper.Beat all this goodness with a fork. Now let’s cook our pancetta.Pancetta is Italian bacon. So treat it like bacon. Don’t be flippin’ it all around. You want it to brown on each side. It’s tough to brown pancetta that’s been diced, but you can try!Get a small sauté pan. Put it over medium heat. Put the diced pancetta in. Let it cook until it's brown, about 4 minutes.Flip it over, give it a stir, and cook until it's brown on the other side, about 4 minutes.When the pancetta is done, turn off the heat, and use a slotted spoon to get it out of the pan. Put the pancetta in a small bowl and set aside.You should have some pancetta drippings left in the bottom of the pan. You’ll need about a tablespoon to cook the garlic. Get rid of the rest.Put the pan on medium-low heat.Add the crushed red pepper and the smashed garlic, cook 2 minutes until the garlic is golden and turn it over. Cook for 2 minutes more.Turn the heat to high. Add the wine; let it cook off for a minute or 2 while stirring. Turn off the heat.Now back to the pasta…When the pasta water comes to a boil, add a couple tablespoons of kosher salt. Add the pasta.Follow the cooking instructions on the pasta box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, take a piece and bite into it. Look at the center of the pasta. If it looks chalky, it is not done. Check the pasta every 2 minutes. It might take longer than the instructions say. When the pasta is al dente, not chalky or chewy, drain it well.IMMEDIATELY put the pasta into the bowl with the eggs and cheese and parsley. You want the heat from the pasta to cook the eggs. Add the garlic and white wine from the small sauté pan. Toss gently. Add the cooked pancetta, and toss gently.Dish it up! Garnish with a piece of parsley, and…
MANGIAMO!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Meatballs
Meatballs and Motown
When I was a kid, fresh out of school, a friend of a friend got me an appointment in New York City with a pretty big publisher. I had written some songs, which I recorded and produced at a studio in my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland. I had my little demo tape all ready for the Big Time. In the Big Apple. With a Big Publisher.I got dressed up in my white, three-piece, Saturday Night Fever suit. I had the John Travolta hairdo. I used so much hairspray you could have hit me in the head with a baseball bat and I wouldn’t have felt it.I took the train from Baltimore to Manhattan. I walked uptown from Penn Station, figured I’d save money on a cab.The building was on 54th Street. I walked in, gave the doorman my name, and took the elevator to one of the top floors. I got off the elevator and gave the receptionist my name. I waited for a while, taking in the views of Manhattan, dreaming about what kind of deal I was gonna be offered. The receptionist led me into the guy’s office.He was probably in his 50s. I shook his hand. He gave me a strange smile and a look-over. He then told me that his friend—the guy who set-up the meeting—mentioned that I was “quite attractive.”Welcome to the music binniz! I was flattered, in an awkward way. But I wasn’t there for a beauty contest; I was just a young man trying to pitch some songs. I sat down on the couch. The guy sat on the edge of his desk, and started leering at me like Pepe LePew. I was getting a very strange vibe.When the guy walked over and started to sit down on my lap, I decided it might be best to just skedaddle out of there. So I stood up, thanked him, and hurdled over the couch. I just wanted someone to listen to my songs, without having to…well, you know. I wasn’t pissed off, just disappointed. He hadn’t listened to one song. I walked outside, onto the streets of Manhattan.It was pouring down rain. I had a lump in my throat the size of a basketball. I was supposed to meet my Dad at a French restaurant for a victory lunch. It’s hard to catch a cab in NYC in the rain. So I walked the few blocks to the restaurant; Café Brittany, in the upper 50s, on the west side of town.
My Dad was a World War II veteran. He followed Patton’s army across France. He once rescued a French girl who was behind enemy lines. So the French women who worked at Café Brittany thought he was a hero. And he was. And they treated him like one. He spoke French and was charming. They loved him. No wonder he went there so often.I walked in, all wet. My white suit was splattered with muddy water that cars had splashed on me as they passed by in the rain. I was a mess. I sat down. I could hardly talk.When my Dad asked how it went, I told him it went OK. I didn’t tell him the whole story. I was kinda embarrassed. I just kept my mouth shut. Like my Dad used to say, “Nobody gets in trouble by keeping their mouth shut.” Lunch was quick and quiet. I left my Dad with his admirers, and went back out into the rain. I started cold-calling publishers.One of the first calls I made was the Motown office in New York. Motown had some of my favorite writers — Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson, Holland-Dozier-Holland — and they had some of my favorite songs.To my surprise a gal named Roxanna Gordy answered the phone. I asked for an appointment. She asked when. I said hesitating as I mustered up my courage, “How about right now?”About thirty minutes later I was in her office. It was on 57th Street, across from Carnegie Hall. I looked like shit, my suit was soaked and soiled, and my hair at this point looked more like Moe from the Three Stooges than John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.Roxanna Gordy took my tape, and started playing it. I sat there in silence as we listened.Her office door was open a crack. A few minutes into the first song, the door cracked open a little more, and a man’s head popped in. The guy asked Roxanna about the music, and she pointed at me. The guy didn’t look too impressed with the way I looked.Can’t blame him.But he liked what he heard. He invited me into his office. His name was Carl Griffin. He was VP of Motown publishing in New York. We hit it off.Carl signed me to a songwriting deal a few weeks later. I got paid a thousand bucks every month to write a song every two weeks. I was in heaven.Right after I signed, Carl called and asked me to write a song for a new artist who had a debut CD coming out. I asked Carl when, and he told me, “Yesterday.”That didn’t leave much time. I immediately wrote a song, and it sounded pretty good to me — it gave me the tingles, which is always a good omen – but how was I going to record it?I didn’t have time to book a studio. All I had was an old cassette player with two inputs, and two microphones. So I hung one mic inside my upright piano, and sang into the other mic.It was the worst recording I’ve ever done. On the playback, the piano came out of one side, and my voice came out of the other. I loved the song, but the recording made me want to hide in a cave in Afghanistan. I sent the tape to Carl.
A few weeks later, Carl came down to Baltimore to do a demo session with me. I’d written some new songs, and we needed to get them recorded. We went into the studio, which was pretty fancy. Carl sat me down in front of the speakers, and told me he wanted me to listen to something.He put on a tape and what came out of those speakers was amazing.It was my song, the one I had recorded into the cassette player. The new version sounded as good as anything I’d ever heard. Dave Grusin, one of my favorite producers, produced it. Dave wrote the soundtracks for Tootsie, The Graduate, On Golden Pond and lots of other movies.The players were amazing…all the top session guys. Francisco Centena on bass, Eric Gale on guitar, Ralph McDonald on percussion, and Dave Grusin himself played electric piano.I was absolutely floored. I could not believe my ears. They took that shitty little recording of my song and made it into this amazing record. With a stunning new singer that had an amazing voice.The singer was Angela Bofill. Her debut CD was Angie. My song was "Summer Days."The album went on to get great reviews in the New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times. It was quite an auspicious debut. It sold quite a few copies. It created a big buzz in the Biz.I played the song for my Dad. He was a rough, tough, and gruff guy that didn’t radiate a lot of warmth, and he didn’t give out compliments. But I could tell he really liked it. Especially when he said, “I want you to play that at my funeral.”Keep in mind, my Dad wasn’t old or sick or close to death or anything. But whenever I’d visit him, he’d remind me to play “Summer Days” at his funeral.That was my Dad’s way of saying he liked it.
MEATBALLS To this Italian kid, meatballs are a source of comfort. They remind me of Sunday at my grandmother Angela’s house, the smell of the sauce, the warmth of the kitchen, the family drinking and screaming and throwing knives at each other.Home sweet home.When I need a little comfort, I make meatballs. A lot of Italians used to put bread soaked in milk in their meatballs. The reason was simple—you could make a lot more meatballs that way. And when you’re poor and starving, you do what you can to extend a meal. I’ve cooked them both ways—with bread and without. And they’re just plain better without the bread soaked in milk.If you’re worried about keeping your balls moist, just don’t overcook them. About 3 or 4 minutes a side is plenty of time. I don’t use lean meats. A lot of that juice makes things…juicy.Traditional meatballs are made with equal amounts of ground beef, ground pork, and ground veal. If you have any objections to any of these meats, you can substitute.I’ve made meatballs from ground turkey, and they were good - I used half dark and half white meat. I’ve made meatballs with just ground beef and pork, and they were good, too. Just make sure you end up with 3 pounds of meat, which should make about 60 or 70 meatballs. Feeds two, if you’re in my family.Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese is the way to go. The pre-grated stuff in a box is dry and tasteless, and should be avoided if possible.You can eat meatballs plain, but I put my meatballs in a tomato sauce. You will need about 6 cups of tomato sauce—I make my own, it’s quick, simple and easy. My recipe is on page XX.
Ingredients6 cups tomato sauce (bottled is OK, homemade is bestest!)1 pound ground beef1 pound ground pork1 pound ground veal3 eggs3 tablespoons onion minced fine3 tablespoons chopped Italian flat leaf parsley (you can use curly parsley in a pinch)1 ½ cups bread crumbs — don’t use any that are heavily flavored — I use plain panko¾ cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheeseSalt (I use 1 teaspoon of kosher salt) and pepperExtra virgin olive oilHere we go…Heat your tomato sauce in a large pot over high heat. When it starts to bubble, lower to a simmer.Get a big bowl. Put the meat in, crack the eggs on top. Add the onion and parsley. Add the breadcrumbs, and the Parmigiano. Add some salt and fresh cracked pepper.Mix ‘em up! I use my hands. Dig in, mix all the ingredients together. When it’s all well-mixed, it’s time to roll our balls! Grab a small amount of the mix, about the size of a golf ball. Roll it into a ball. Put it on a plate, and flatten it a bit. Do this with all the meat mixture.Get a large sauté pan. Add a tablespoon of olive oil. Swirl it around the pan, and then wipe out the excess with a paper towel. Put the heat on medium, heat for 2 minutes.Add as many meatballs as you can without crowding. No bunching! Cook for 4 minutes. Don’t move them around! We want the bottoms of our balls to be brown. Pick up a meatball with some tongs. If the bottom is brown, turn all the meatballs over and cook for another 4 minutes until brown on the other side. Slice one open, take a look. If it’s done, put the meatballs in the tomato sauce. If not, cook for another minute or two, and then place in the sauce when done.Do this with all your meatballs! Drain the sauté pan of excess juices after each batch. When they’ve all cooked, let them simmer in the sauce for 10 minutes.Dish it up! Put it over pasta, or serve as an appetizer with some crusty bread for your crusty friends, and…
MANGIAMO!!!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Linguine with White Clam Sauce
Linguine White Clam Sauce with Gary Puckett and the Union Gap
This dish was one of my uncle Oscar’s favorites. He loved to cook this sauce, and his version was about as good as it gets.A few years ago, I was having brunch with Unc. He lived in a big house in this great section of Baltimore, Maryland, called Guilford.As we were sitting on the outdoor patio, drinking Bloody Marys that sunny Sunday afternoon, I commented on the watch he was wearing. It was a Movado, the one with the plain black face and the big diamond at the top of the dial, where the “12” usually is. It was one good-looking watch, and I said so.He took it off his wrist and said, “I want you to have it.” He gave it to me.I told him that I didn’t want it. Unc insisted. I resisted. This went back and forth for a few minutes, then he screamed, “Take the fuckin’ watch!”Oscar cursed a lot. So did my Dad, his brother. Funny, it never sounded really vulgar coming from them. Just seemed kind of natural. They were tough guys, but well-educated and eloquent. They used the “F” word a lot.I took the fucking watch. You don’t say no to a guy like Unc — it could be lethal. I put it on my wrist. Wow. That was one beautiful watch. I figured I’d take the watch and give it back to Oscar the next day, after the Bloody Marys had worn off. It was way too expensive a watch to keep.I had a date that night – a girl I’d had my eye on for quite some time. She worked in a club where my band played, and, for what seemed like years, I’d wanted to ask her out. I had a big crush. I finally got up the nerve to ask her out. I did. She said yes.And I had a new watch to wear on that first date.I wasn’t trying to impress her with the watch. Any woman who is impressed by a watch isn’t the kind of woman who’d want to hang around a guy like me.What I was hoping would be impressive was the fact that my uncle had given me the watch off his wrist.I took this girl to my friend’s restaurant — an elegant fine-dining place with a grand piano and a small dance floor. They had a guy who played piano and sang Sinatra, and you could wine, dine, and dance, Rat Pack style.
The food was great, Italian stuff. The bar was cool. The lighting, the decor, the ambiance was really kinda sexy. My uncle Oscar used to go there. So did a lot of successful Baltimore Italian guys who looked like they were in the Mafia.And maybe they were.The waitresses – dressed in black bowties, white shirts, and black vests – would stand inconspicuously in the shadows, hands clasped behind their backs, keeping their eyes on the room. All someone had to do was make a hand gesture, and a waitress would be bounding across the room like an Olympic gymnast doing the floor routine.If you got up to go to the bathroom, or have a dance, when you came back, your napkin would be miraculously folded into some kind of Origami sculpture. That’s the kind of place it was.My date and I sat down at the bar and ordered drinks. We clinked glasses, she saw the watch and said, “That’s a great watch.” I thanked her, and then told her the story about Unc giving me the watch off his wrist.She seemed more impressed by the watch, than by the fact that Oscar gave it to me right off his wrist.Then I asked her what her favorite band was. She didn’t hesitate, “Gary Puckett and the Union Gap.”Gary Puckett and the Union Gap? I knew who they were. I remembered their song, “Young Girl”, whose first line is “Young Girl, get out of my mind, my love for you is way out of line” which is a line that if sung today, might get you thrown in jail, let alone be a big hit.I had an Ex who hated the word “hate.” She’d say “least favorite” instead. She turned out to be my least favorite Ex.Gary Puckett and the Union Gap are one of my least favorite bands. I mean, think of all the bands in the world - Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, the Stones, the Jimi Hendrix Experience, U2, Nirvana, the Who, Queen, Pink Floyd, The Supremes, The Temptations, Sly and the Family Stone, the Ohio Players, Funkadelic--and you’re going with Gary Puckett and the Union Gap?That’s what was going through my mind as I sat there at the bar having a drink with this gorgeous girl who I had such a crush on.“What time is it?” she asked.I smiled and looked down at my watch with the big diamond and told her.She asked me again about five minutes later. I told her. Five minutes later, same thing. It was kind of cute, the first 20 or 30 times she asked me what time it was.I was kinda glad when we finally sat down for dinner. She asked me what time it was. Again. I smiled and looked down at my watch. The glass that covered the face was gone. The two hands were gone—the big one and the little one. The black face with the big diamond was gone. I was staring at a bunch of gears…that weren’t moving.I took the broken watch off my wrist and said, “Let’s not worry about time. Let’s just enjoy this moment.” I put what was left of the watch in my jacket pocket.When my date excused herself to go to the bathroom, I dove underneath the table. The waitresses came bounding over, thinking I was having a seizure, or choking to death.When I told them what happened, they helped me look. There were more lighters underneath that table than during a slow song at an Elton John concert.One of the waitresses alerted us that my date was on her way back from the bathroom, and they jumped back into position, and I got out from under the table.The rest of the evening was nice if uneventful, except that every time my date would go to the bathroom, everyone from the busboys to the hostess was looking on the floor for the missing pieces of my watch.We had dinner, had a drink and a dance, and then I took her home.We never went out again. I mean, she was a nice person, kind of sweet and funny. And gorgeous.I hate to admit it, but the Gary Puckett and the Union Gap thing bothered me.After I dropped her off, I went back to the restaurant. Nobody had found anything. I pulled the broken watch out of my jacket pocket and looked at it again. No glass. No hands. No face. No huge diamond.I wasn’t looking forward to telling my Uncle about the watch. He was a very understanding man, but he also had a temper. One time, Oscar got pissed off at his uncle, who had accused Oscar--who was a doctor--of not taking such great medical care of his wife. Oscar threw a glass at the guy.Lucky he missed. He hit the coffee table instead. Unc threw the glass so hard, that years later, when I was having the table refinished, the shards were so deeply embedded in the table top, that they couldn’t even sand them out.And I was thinking about that glass when I called Oscar that morning. I told Unc that I had broken the incredibly expensive diamond Movado watch he’d so generously given me.He started laughing. Really hard.Then he told me that he’d bought the watch on the streets of New York City for 10 bucks.LINGUINE WITH WHITE CLAM SAUCEThere’s nothing like a little linguine with white clam sauce after your uncle has just played a huge joke on you.Use the smallest clams you can find. Oscar sometimes used vongole veraci, tiny little clams from Italy the size of a thumbnail.
I used wild Manila clams, about the size of a quarter. A few months ago, I did a show at a club called Spaghettini in Seal Beach, California. My brother and his wife had come in from Arizona for the concert. The day after the show, my brother wanted me to cook some clam sauce, so I searched and found fresh Manila clams in a wild seafood store deep in the heart of Cambodia Town, a neighborhood a few miles from Seal Beach. The clams were wild and fresh and looked and smelled wonderful.Whatever clams you use, soak them in ice water for a few hours, or overnight. This is to get rid of the grit, to let the clams purge themselves of their sand. The smaller the clam, the less grit and sand.Cleaning the clams can be a pain. But that’s one of the keys to this recipe - you have to clean your clams. Pour the clams and the ice water they’ve been soaking in into a colander. Rinse them off and scrub each one with a vegetable brush. Repeat.Whenever Oscar made clam sauce, he always mentioned the special ingredient my Mom had told him about. Oscar loved my Mom.It was my Mom who suggested to Oscar that he put two anchovies in the sauce.To some people eating anchovies is like eating a sweaty eyebrow.But when you add two anchovies in the beginning of this sauce, and mash them up, it really lends a great flavor. Just don’t let anybody see you do it, and don’t tell anybody about it. Like my Dad used to say, “Nobody gets in trouble by keeping their mouth shut.”
Ingredients6 dozen small clams, the smallest you can find3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil6 cloves garlic, thinly sliced (about 2 tablespoons)Crushed red pepper (I start off with ¼ teaspoon)2 anchovies1 cup clam juice¼ cup white wine2 dozen or so grape tomatoes, yellow or red or both, cut in half, seeds squeezed outA handful of Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped (¼ cup)Kosher saltHere We Go…Rinse the clams one final time in cold water.Start your pasta water boiling on the highest heat.Put the olive oil in a large pan. Put the heat on medium.Add the crushed red pepper and the sliced garlic, and cook until the garlic is pale gold, a few minutes. Don’t burn the garlic!Add the anchovies and mash them with the back of a wooden spoon ‘til they disintegrate.Add the clam juice and the white wine. Turn the heat on high.When the sauce comes to a boil, reduce it for a minute or so. Turn the heat to medium-low.Add the clams to the sauce.
Then add the tomatoes and the parsley. Stir. Cover.After a couple of minutes, take the cover off, stir, put the cover back on.When the clams open up, the sauce is done.Throw out any unopened clams. This is important. Unopened clams are bad clams. No bad clams!When your pasta water has boiled, toss in a few tablespoons of kosher salt, and add a pound of linguine. Cook according to the instructions on the box. Two minutes before it’s supposed to be ready, check the pasta. Take a piece, and bite through it. If it’s chalky in the center it’s not done. Check every 2 minutes, until the pasta is not chalky or chewy. The pasta might take longer than the instructions.When the pasta is al dente (firm to the bite), drain and add it to the sauce. Drizzle with a touch of olive oil, and toss. Add about half of the clam sauce to the pasta and toss gently.Dish it up! Put a small amount of pasta—about a handful—on a plate, and top off with a ladle of the clam sauce. Garnish with parsley, and serve it up.
MANGIAMO!!!!!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Carrot and Onion Sauce
Carrot and Onion Sauce and The Funky Shack
People use the word “literally” in the wrong way. For instance, my niece once said, “I literally puked my guts out” which is so wrong on so many levels.But way back when, when I was literally a starving musician, this was a sauce I loved to cook. I still do. Why? You can find the ingredients anywhere. It is quick, simple, healthy and delicious.It is cheap to make. Pine nuts (pignoli) are a lot more expensive now than they were back then in 1492, but still, this dish doesn’t cost much to make. This was important back in the early days. We didn’t have much do-re-mi.I was in a band called BootCamp. We started off with a bang, had two of the first 100 videos ever played on MTV, and we were getting a lot of attention from folks in the music biz.Our manager, Carl Griffin, called and asked if we wanted to spend the summer playing at a beach club in the Hamptons. On the beach. Long Island. New York. The Hamptons! It’s where all the rich and famous folk spend their summers.We took the gig.We packed up all our stuff, and headed up the New Jersey Turnpike. We were based out of Baltimore, Maryland; it was a five-hour drive to Long Island.The club had rented a house for us right across the street. We had visions of mansions, and pools, and tennis courts…and as we drove to the club, we saw all of that. Every house we passed was fancier than the one before. Swimming pools. Fancy landscaping. Garages bigger than our houses.
But when we pulled up to the club, and saw the house right across the street, our hearts sank. It was a shack. Literally. We walked in…there were spaces between the boards of the walls that you could see through. We called it - the Funky Shack.There were mice camping out, who later became our friends. There were a few really small rooms. The ceiling was maybe a little more than six feet high. I’m 6’ 2” and my head literally almost touched the sagging fiberboard panels that made up the ceiling.There was no heat. There was no air-conditioning. The only water that came out of the faucets, including the shower, was saltwater. The one and only bathroom was the size of a coffin.This would be our home for three months. The glamorous life of show biz.We went across the street to the club. They were still building it. It looked like a half-finished barn. There were construction materials all around. Workers standing around looking confused. It was a mess. Literally.There was no way we were gonna play any music in that place anytime soon. We walked to the beach. It was absolutely gorgeous. To the right was the private beach that belonged to the movie stars that lived on the ocean.To the left was a stretch of public beach, and then a canal. The only commercial zoning they had was this one little stretch of a couple hundred yards, where they had two nightclubs. Ours, the future Neptune Beach Club, was a rock club, and the one next door, Summer’s, was a disco. There was a small bar on the other side of the street next to the Funky Shack. It was called Cat Ballou’s.We went over there and had way too much to drink. Then we stumbled back to the Funky Shack.It got really cold that first night, down to the low thirties. We were freezing. We hadn’t brought any heavy blankets, not thinking we’d need them, and we were close to frostbite. There was no heat in the Funky Shack. Being incredibly resourceful musicians, bolstered by booze, we walked across the street to the club, borrowed a bunch of 2 X 4s, and started a fire in the shack’s small fireplace.The next morning some workers came over and asked us if we saw anybody taking any lumber, and we said, “No” as we were kicking the ends of the 2 X 4s we’d pilfered back into the smoldering fireplace.The Funky Shack was right on the bay. And when I say right on the bay, I mean it was literally on the bay. When the tide was high, the water came onto the back porch. I call it a back porch but it was more like a small rotted wooden raft.It’s not like the shack was on stilts, or had a pier. It sat flat on a marsh, and the bay was right out back. It was not really a bay, more like a big shallow body of swamp water.
Billy Joel stayed in that house. So did Leslie West. We heard more than one story about each of those guys living in the Funky Shack.We tried to make it habitable. The guitar player, who was also a carpenter, made a screen door. He made a wooden platform for the shower; because it didn’t drain, and the water would back up to your knees.When you took a shower, which was saltwater, you stood on the platform, and the spray literally hit you in the you-know-whats. I had to crouch over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, because the ceiling was so low. If you wanted to wash your hair, you had to stand on your head.That was how we showered for a little more than three months.They eventually finished the club after a few weeks. After they did, we played six nights a week, seven hours a night, until 4 AM, with double shifts on Saturday and Sunday.And as crazy as it sounds- we were really happy.And late at night, after the gig, if we wanted a dish of pasta, we’d walk across the street, sneak into the club, and fill our pasta pot with fresh water.Then we’d come back to the Funky Shack and cook. Are you sure Billy Joel started off this way?CARROT AND ONION SAUCE
Ingredients3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil2 cups minced onionCrushed red pepper (I use about ¼ teaspoon)3 cups grated carrots2 cups chicken broth½ cup dry white wineA handful of Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped (about 2 to 3 tablespoons)A handful (1/2 cup) of pine nuts (if you can’t find pine nuts, you can use sliced almonds, as a substitute)1 pound of pasta — fusilli is my favorite, but you can use farfalle, or spaghettiKosher salt to taste Here we go…Put the olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium-low heat for 2 minutes.Add the onion. Add some crushed red pepper to taste. Cook for 5 to 7 minutes until the onion is translucent.Add the carrots, chicken broth and white wine.Raise the heat to high.When it comes to a boil, let it cook for 2 minutes.Reduce the heat to medium-low. Taste for salt, add some if needed.Simmer for 20 minutes or so, until the broth is nearly absorbed, and the carrots are tender but not mooshy.Just before the sauce is done, add the chopped parsley to the pan and stir.
Put the pine nuts in a dry pan over medium heat. Cook and shake for a few minutes until golden brown. Don’t burn your nuts!You can use this sauce over rice or on a bruschetta or flatbread; but I put it over pasta.Put a large pot of cold water on the highest heat, you got. When it comes to a full boil, add a few tablespoons of kosher salt, and the pound of pasta.Follow the cooking directions on the pasta box. Two minutes before the time is up, taste the pasta. You want it to be al dente, which means “firm to the bite.” Bite through a piece of pasta. If it is chalky in the center it is not done. Cook it until it is not chalky or too chewy.I cooked some penne rigate pasta the other night. It took 5 minutes longer than the instructions on the box. So keep on tasting the pasta as it cooks. You’ll know when it’s done.When it is, drain the pasta in a colander and put it in a bowl. Drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil and mix. Add most of the sauce to the pasta and mix’em up.Dish it up! Put some pasta on a plate. Add a little sauce on top, and some toasted pine nuts. You can also add some grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese or even some Romano-pecorino, which is a little sharper and saltier.
MANGIAMO!