Woman’s Month Recipe: Fried Seminal Fluid Sacks. (So men are at least are good for something…)

Yesterday for the first time I made fried milt, not knowing what it was, and ate it with a girl friend. Marvelous, breaded in kamut flour and grated lemon rind with a bit of green-tea salt. When today I asked our fish dealer just where milt comes from, she explained: “sacks of seminal fluid. The eggs are from the females, the milt….” To which my friend said “Oh. So men are at least good for something….”  

Small Price, Big Flavors: Penne with Ricotta and Bacon

t’s late. It’s been a fairly busy day, your girl friend will be getting back about 20 minutes or so after you will, tired and a little stressed at the ongoings of the day. It’s your turn to cook and you really, really don’t feel like prepping a meal. What’s worse: you’re hungry, even ravenous. You want massive, mouth-filling, gut-fulfilling fair in a hurry. Pizza? Burgers? The deli on the corner?

literary recipe (pasta noir): F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Summer Pasta Chicken Salad (125 years this month)

Only an essential, clean sauce can complete an elegant pasta dish as a purple-hued cloud can complete a glorious summer sunset. Not a vulgar sauce like, say, one made with Italian meatballs, those shiny, dirty round mounds of grease that sit glistening on the top of Little Italy restaurant displays calling out to passing Midwestern travelers like sirens to Odysseus’ crew. This dish is closer to the essence of pasta and for that reason I recommend you use only the finest ingredients, Martelli butterfly noodles, the most virgin of Tuscan olive oils, and free–range Connecticut chicken. (Avoid those of New Jersey, as they are often unclean. I know Hemingway thinks such differences are pretentious and without significance but he puts ketchup on his hotdogs. Ketchup. Hotdogs. ‘Nough said.)

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