How to Cook Marinara Sauce Like an Asshole.

My husband had stolen the other wooden spoon, most of the pre-chopped onions, and the tomato paste for his meaty meat sauce. I was forced to deal with the dregs to help the vegetarians have a consummate meal. No pre-chopped onions and only jars of Safeway sauce. By god, it was like cooking in the paleo age.

But I did have wine. Thank goodness that I had wine. I decided to make a reduction of one cup red wine and one-cup balsamic vinegar. I wasn’t sure what this would actually do for the sauce but I had seen a fair amount of assholes brag about the quantity of wine and vinegars they had reduced. So, in order to compete, I had decided it would be best if I tried to be like one of these assholes.

I reduced the mess to a syrupy blackness that resembled Hershey’s chocolate sauce. 

I remember reading that some people had difficulty reducing balsamic and wine, which I think is confusing. I’m not a physicist, but I think if you boil pretty much any liquid long enough it will reduce, simply because at least part of it will be converted into a gas. My only guess is that, after 10 minutes, it didn’t seem that much smaller to them than when they started and then they got frustrated. In order to be a real gourmet asshole, you cannot get frustrated with your reduction. It’s the patience that gets you the asshole points.

And so that is why instead of dicing the garlic and putting in directly into the oil to sauté, this time I decided to roast the garlic first. Of yes! I was going to be that kind of asshole.

Garlic roasting, wine thingy reduced… what else can I do?

Well since I had to chop the onions myself,  I decided the best option would be to roast fennel seeds in olive oil until they popped and then add the diced onions to the oil.  You heard me right. I took the opportunity to roast those mutherfuckin’ seeds until  they were a light toasty brown and the whole kitchen smelled like Italian sausage but without the penis substitute.

I hit a snafu in my assholeishness. I was dealing with amateur kitchen ingredients. Very little Parmesan, (which was only bought to top some of the meat pasta) and no fresh  herbs.

GASP! you say?

 You heard me right. I was forced to use the goddamned dried Italian mix! And you know there ain’t no Italian alive in all of Italy who cooks with that.  It just doesn’t happen.

Shhhh!

They don’t.

Shhhhhh!

I don’t care what your mother does,.

Shh!

Dd.

Sssss!

SHHhhhhhh!

No.

So, I sent my husband out for more supplies. In specific, fresh rosemary. And yes, this is the stuff that you can pick out of your neighbor's yard most anywhere on the planet, except for the neighborhood that I live in. 

In the meantime, I had a quarter cup left of nutritional yeast flakes that were soon to go bad on me. At least I think they were. Do those damn things ever really go bad? And when they go bad, do they take a baseball bat to all that is dairy? Best not to leave it to chance. I threw that in the pasta for vegan cheesy goodness.

And since there was a little tiny plastic cup of chili flakes, which came from something, but I have no idea what, I threw that in too.

Garlic was roasted now, but too hot to peel. And I have the patience of a cooking asshole, but not  the patience of a GREAT cooking asshole. I know my limits.

 I put the roasted garlic in the freezer.

Magic! Ten minutes later I could actually squeeze the contents out and mash them up so I it would blend into the sauce for that taste of  smoky garlicky goodness.  And then  I notice the whole pot is getting a paste-like consistency, which means…..

Hurrah!

It is time for another wine bottle to be opened! And since the sauce became super thick in the short hour or so it has been bubbling, I really had to throw a third if it in the sauce along with the rest of the chili flakes and a reasonable bunch of salt. I think the reduced balsamic actually acted like sugar and sweetened the sauce a little too much.

Note to all asshole gourmands. Instead of saying you added sugar to your marinara, tell them you reduced an entire vat  of balsamic – some size that you think might  be worthy of Liberace’s kitchen. Remember, size does matter. Like most men, you don’t have to tell the truth.