Get Out of My Dreams…And Into My Carbonara

9 August 2008

Gayest title for a post, ever?  Gayest title for a post, ever.

Gayest title for a post, ever? Gayest title for a post, ever.

I don’t know about you fuckers, but I could go for about a pound of bacon, right now.  Seriously, the first person to fry some of that shit up gets to be secretary of lap-dances.  And none of that ‘Canadian bacon’ jazz, either – that shit is just ham, and everybody fucking knows it.  Let’s have some bacon, then go get sake-bombs at that new sushi place down the street.  In the meantime, I am rockin’ the shit outta this top hat.”

-Abraham Lincoln, in his 1861 address to his generals at Antietam

Everyone knows that Lincoln loved him some bacon.  But, sake-bombs?  Who knew?!?

Everyone knows that Lincoln loved him some bacon; but, sake-bombs? Who knew?!?

 As any true, red-blooded American knows, the best and most appropriate thing one can eat, at any given time, is bacon.  I happen to be a very red-blooded American, therefore I fucking love bacon.  I’m also a blue-blood, though, so I’m not sure where that leaves us.  In any event, bacon can be consumed in many ways: in sandwiches and co-mingled with salads, on top of burgers and underneath more bacon, wrapped around shrimp or swaddling a steak, from sea to shining sea, amen.  My favorite method of bacon consumption, however, is in a carbonara sauce.  My first dalliance with carbonara came during college, when I would daily get a chicken carbonara sub from Quizno’s, which I would subsequently violate with my penis, before finally consuming, in a ritual as old as time.  The bacon-laden sauce was almost overwhelming, and pretty soon I was turning tricks in public restrooms just to get money for my next fix.  Also, I liked turning tricks.  After that cock-tease of a whore cashier at Quizno’s got her restraining order against me, however, I was forced to find other ways to feed my habit.  I turned to my kitchen, and penne alla carbonara became my go-to meal for smoky, bacon-y goodness.

 

"I love carbonara sauce.  I love carbonara sauce on pancakes.  I love it on pizza.  And I take a little carbonara sauce and put a little bit in my hair, when I've had a rough week.  What do think holds it up, slick?"

"I love carbonara sauce. I love carbonara sauce on pancakes. I love it on pizza. And I take a little carbonara sauce and put a little bit in my hair, when I've had a rough week. What do think holds it up, slick?"

A carbonara sauce, if you are unaware and stupid, is made from egg yolks, cream, Parmesan cheese, and glorious, wonderful bacon.  If it were physically possible to consume the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, it would taste remarkably like a carbonara sauce.  You can put it on anything, and that thing becomes great.  Except for the movie Crash, of course – nothing’s going to make that fucker tolerable.  But such is the case for pedestrian ol’ pasta.   So, here’s how to make a penne alla carbonara that would be sure to get you laid, were it not for the fact that, after eating it, you’re going to be passed out for roughly four hours in a food coma.  During which time, you’ll dream about bacon yachts and penne jet-skis floating on a sea of carbonara sauce; and spiders, too, because spiders ruin all my good dreams.  I hate spiders.

Get this crap

Bacon
Parmesan
Cream
Throw in some more bacon, just because you deserve it
Broccoli Rabe
Eggs
Paper towels (you’re out of them)
Jameson’s Whiskey

Do this junk:

Throw the pasta in some boiling, salted water.  I prefer penne, as opposed to farfale or tagliatelli, mostly because I don’t know what those other two are.  While the pasta is cooking, put on Sinatra’s Songs for Swingin’ Lovers and croon along with the Chairman.  Drink a pint glass full of Jameson’s and shot glass of Guinness, just to mix it up a bit.  I forgot to mention this, but you should be wearing nothing but an apron, just as I picture you in my dreams.  In another pan, cook the bacon or pancetta, but hopefully both, and remove to drain.  Into your mouth.  In that same pan, throw in your broccoli rabe (or broccoli Fred, or whatever your particular broccoli is named), and cook until it’s a little tender and taking on some color (not too much, though; if it starts smoking Kools, you know you’ve over-cooked it).  In a bowl, combine an egg yolk, cream, Parmesan, and crumbled-up bacon.

Okay, here’s where you’re going to fuck this thing up.  Take the pasta right from the pot to your broccoli pan and toss it around a little.  Add some pasta water and take it off the heat (you don’t want to scramble the eggs in the next step.  Or do you???).  Add in the carbonara mixture, while tossing. 

You, my friend, now have a good, old-fashioned penne alla carbonara.  For an extra treat, grab some crusty bread and eat your meal in front of those Asian tourists you keep chained-up in your basement.  Man, are they hungry!

Not if I get there first, fuck-face.

Not if I get there first, fuck-face.

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