desperance

As loyal focused readers will remember, I toasted all the bread in the world two days ago, and ate it up. Yum yum.

Which meant, of course, that there wasn't any bread for yesterday (bread was rising, but my sourdough process takes all day and the day before) and Karen was working from home, so I needed to feed her.

As those of you with deep memories will remember, when I was in Provence a couple of years back we went to a restaurant where the speciality was pasta with sage and whisky, flambeed inside a giant cartwheel parmesan cheese. I've recreated that at home without the cartwheel (I have to do it in a saucepan, sigh), and as I have a giant thriving broad-leaved sage in the garden here, my first thought was to do it again.

Only then I remembered that I only had fabulous whisky, and I just ain't doing it with that.

So I thought okay, butter, then: sage butter is a classic with pasta. Fusilli and sage butter and parmesan, sounds like a lunch to me.

And then I thought, I have some mushrooms. Mushrooms and fusilli and sage butter and parmesan. Sounds like a lunch.

Garlic. Garlic and mushrooms. And fusilli and sage butter and parmesan.

Bacon. Bacon and garlic and mushrooms and...

So what I did, I fried sage leaves in butter until they were crisp, and set them aside.

In another pan I fried bacon in its own fat until it was crisp, and set it aside.

In another pan I boiled fusilli until it was al dente, and set it aside.

Going back to an earlier pan, I fried mushrooms in garlic and butter and olive oil; then I added the pasta; then I added the bacon. There may have been more butter, also salt and pepper.

Then everything went into a bowl and I stirred in grated parmesan, and scattered the sage leaves on top.

Let's just say there weren't any leftovers.