My hair is so dried out that I have to avoid candles at dinner, getting too close to the subway tracks (sparks) and any situation or event where people would expect you to have nice hair. Hair product does nothing, raw eggs and mayonnaise do nothing. I’m thinking about a pixi.
The same kind of situation can happen at dinner. Last night I got on the phone right after I put the broccoli rabe into a covered pan of simmering and salted water to cook. Out of sight, out of mind. At least twenty minutes later (maybe even more, but it hurts too much to think about it), I drained the greens. Overcooked broccoli rabe is never going to be undercooked broccoli rabe. I set it down in the sink, because I couldn’t look at it, and as I was putting Ferdinand to bed, I called out to Jonathan what to do to finish dinner. Somewhere between sliver three cloves of garlic and simmer it slowly in the olive oil with a little salt and red pepper flakes, and him asking me shouldn’t he just flash fry it, it got all confused. He continued to cook the broccoli rabe for another twenty minutes in the garlic once it was golden, ever so slowly just about until Ferd was sound asleep.
I didn’t say anything. What are you going to say? I threw the pasta in the pot with salted water, drained it well when it was done, saving a little of the cooking water, and then dumped the noodles into the rabe. I drizzled it with a little extra virgin olive oil, tasted for salt and red pepper flakes, grated on some Parmegiano Reggiano, and a few teaspoon fulls of the cooking water. It was delicious. It tasted like grandma’s. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me. I just need to go out and get some pink foamy curlers and a blue tint.