It all started so well. "Penne with Creamy Wild Mushroom Sauce," it whispered. A rustic pot of tender pasta, earthy fungus, and sharp green thyme stared back at me. "Cost per serving: $1.59," said the cocky little rag. And I swooned, I admit. I mistook that arrogance for culinary confidence, and all I was left with was a growing belly and the lingering aftertaste of acid and regret.
I didn't have any wild mushrooms in the cupboard, but no matter. We all got along so well at first: meaty creminis, dried whole-wheat penne, low-fat ricotta, garlic, vegetable stock (in lieu of the dried-mushroom-rehydrating liquid) olive oil, dried thyme, salt, Parmigiano, and an egg.
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It seemed so simple. I laughed, I cried, I threw mushrooms and garlic and dried thyme (a single girl who can't get her pajama pants into the hamper when playing laundry-ball really can't be expected to have fresh herbs on hand) into a pan.
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And there was heat, people. The smell of garlic and mushrooms on a flame fills the senses with longing. Whole wheat pasta went into boiling water, and the synergy was electric. The ricotta, the vegetable broth, a pinch of salt, and an egg yolk joined forces in Tiny Cuisinart to complete the love triangle.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVHFPiQDYpcprD1ChbRXuoHSKscOuCtlqWCiDxJJ-bquyPLBzpOhFNidnQsiZBCKPlU0GLwp9vQAhAcdPOkXifP_ouqVSH5QsCintyF3AEfa_TjfJ9mASSiEW984F2WPRI01Yag/s320/creamsauce.jpg)
That velvety goodness poured over the mushrooms ...
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReOoYL_Pt2N4yhGwbdoVlKIWT_QMpqArKrKf33UW5aFwYPcREDZKHqYui_ipNWpbMKaTZnLOXfRd4Sx1hfUa2tu1ySB-k4LYGhDts3ghL0wBFpKDEhEDRwm-6SMGyCTB8pKHXrw/s320/creamshroom.jpg)
then thickened over medium-low heat for about five minutes, until it coated the back of a spoon.
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The creamy mushroom sauce stirred beautifully into the pasta, and was apportioned into a bowl, certain to seduce with hearty deliciousness. And yet, it consistently disappointed. With each bite the promise of a bright future dissipated. There was no spark. No connection. No ... salt.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhK339_OiJYW-ODkQu-IQl_mox8DTSZoRt2Tl3qyEDqFt-_dqtE9eJlHtSlgNHKwGFQY5HbfWMwUtGjdBev6gBCAXjZgEY6ee1D744BLFRVSlrh6nD_y_Yr9E67lLE_Sz87vg8yQ/s320/mushroompasta.jpg)
It did look pretty. I really wanted to take it out, and let it meet my friends. Alas, it was cardboard. One-dimensional and certain to humiliate me when the conversation turned to literature. I'd like to say I dumped it. But I was afraid of what it would cost me. Apparently my dignity comes cheap. $1.59 per serving.
2 comments:
at: 9:31 AM said...
OK ... this is becoming the highlight of my morning. And no ... NOT because I have a boring life.
at: 2:16 PM said...
hooray! i don't think it's a statement on the relative entertainingness of your life. the highlight of my morning is the nine-minute snooze.
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