2008 Woodie Awards
Cooking, Kind Of
Pasta and Beans
Max George
Issue date: 2/1/08 Section: Features
For my second meal I picked up the phone instead of the cookbook. After moderately successful debut with the lemon chicken, I decided to fall back on a classic, a George family classic: Pasta and beans. My parents have been making this stuff since before my time and I've grown up on the leftovers from this low-cost, high-yield staple. It is brilliantly simple and perfect for stretching the dollar. (How well do I know my audience?!)
I made a quick call to my dad and got the recipe and ingredients. Of course I didn't write anything down. Not only is my mind a stainless-steel trap, but like Aesop and the Brothers Grimm before me, I chose to invest in the security of the oral tradition. Dare I sacrifice the fluidity of the spoken word? No, Eric Mortensen, I dare not. I hope this doesn't bite me in the ass.
The shopping was simple and upon my return home I lay the ingredients out before me, much like a clown with his red nose and make-up, or a magician tending to his hat and rabbit. Much to my displeasure, the food on the counter did not transform before my eyes in a Disneyesque display of color and harmony. Alas, I would have to do this the hard way. This is not child's play, dear reader, this is cooking.
As I reached for knife and garlic, I quickly realized that we don't have a cutting-board. When pitching a hissy-fit got me nowhere, I decided to just use the countertop. (but not before a thorough wipe-down. Remember, Max says "safety first!") Chopping the garlic and onions was no problem. I actually made it all the way through cooking the beef before this Mario reached another end-boss, if you will.
Having employed the strainer to wash and mix the beans and veggies, I didn't know what to do with the raging pot of pasta. I wish I could say I McGyvered myself a strainer out of a wire hanger, three AAA batteries and some post-it notes, but that would be a lie. What really happened was Hannah stepped in and used a plate to drain the pasta. But hey, I think we can all agree the homemade strainer would have been cool.
I made a quick call to my dad and got the recipe and ingredients. Of course I didn't write anything down. Not only is my mind a stainless-steel trap, but like Aesop and the Brothers Grimm before me, I chose to invest in the security of the oral tradition. Dare I sacrifice the fluidity of the spoken word? No, Eric Mortensen, I dare not. I hope this doesn't bite me in the ass.
The shopping was simple and upon my return home I lay the ingredients out before me, much like a clown with his red nose and make-up, or a magician tending to his hat and rabbit. Much to my displeasure, the food on the counter did not transform before my eyes in a Disneyesque display of color and harmony. Alas, I would have to do this the hard way. This is not child's play, dear reader, this is cooking.
As I reached for knife and garlic, I quickly realized that we don't have a cutting-board. When pitching a hissy-fit got me nowhere, I decided to just use the countertop. (but not before a thorough wipe-down. Remember, Max says "safety first!") Chopping the garlic and onions was no problem. I actually made it all the way through cooking the beef before this Mario reached another end-boss, if you will.
Having employed the strainer to wash and mix the beans and veggies, I didn't know what to do with the raging pot of pasta. I wish I could say I McGyvered myself a strainer out of a wire hanger, three AAA batteries and some post-it notes, but that would be a lie. What really happened was Hannah stepped in and used a plate to drain the pasta. But hey, I think we can all agree the homemade strainer would have been cool.
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