Awww...it's Part 3 of Tomato Takeover, the final recipe of the series!
That makes me kinda sad.
I was enjoying hearing your shrieks of pain
every time I burned your corneas with this hideous photo. Anyway, I saved the tastiest recipe for last. Because I love you.
And I hope you love me too. Despite your wrecked corneas.
The original recipe was called Capellini Caprese.
But that's way to stuffy for Kids in the Kitchen.
What's capellini anyway. Sounds like seafood. Ew.
(I'm changing my ways though. I'm going to start making seafood
dishes for the sake of my children. I want them to grow up with
healthy eating habits. Which means I have to completely lie to them.
While violently supressing my gag reflex, I'll contort my face with
animated, eyebrow-raising fake enthusiasm and say
"Ooooo kids, let's have yummy catfish for dinner!"
(While I was typing that an audible whimper escaped my
trembling lips. No jokes, nephew).
I keep a dry erase board on the fridge.
Look at the note to myself for what's on next week's menu:
I'm gonna do it. And I'm gonna like it.) (Hey, did you notice I
just put a picture in parentheses? Now that's pure tomfoolery.))
So anyway, a quick rendezvous with Google educated
me on the subject of capellini. It's just thin spaghetti.
Thinner than vermicelli. And since my pantry boasts
a few hundred pounds of spaghetti snaking around, and not
a one of capellini, I changed the name.
This dish is scrumptious.
You will enjoy it's fiesty flavors and textural delights.
It's quite quick and easy, but that's not
apparent when tasting the end result.
First we start with our star ingredient, the tomato.
You can use any variety cut into chunks.
The recipe calls for cherry or grape tomatoes, halved.
I have used chopped Romas, chopped Early Girls, and halved
Yellow Pear tomatoes and it's been divine every time.
Today I'm using these steroidal cherry tomatoes.
They were so colossal that I quartered them instead of halving them.
We need 3 cups of 'em.
Usually my sidekick, Bug, is here. She scampered upstairs a minute ago. Suspicious activity is afoot. We also need one onion, finely chopped. And since I don't do anything "finely", my onion is coarsely chopped. Now, switch gears and measure 3/4 cup of Kraft Tuscan House Italian dressing. I've used Kraft's Zesty Italian dressing in the past and it's a perfectly suitable substitute. Pour the dressing into a skillet and bring to a bubble. At bubble, add 2 cloves of garlic, minced. (And seeing as how I don't mince either, my garlic is pressed.) (Are you slowly forming an image of me as this listless, languishing, whiny sloth? Good. That's fairly accurate.)
fingers above, I promise I'll stop using parentheses so much. Deal?)
(How come I get the feeling you just scrolled back up to take a closer look?)
(That's ok. I can't break free from my parenthetical addiction anyway.
Deal taken off the table.))))))))
By now the intoxicating perfume of garlic and Italian dressing
will probably be drawing family members from all
corners of your home to the kitchen.
That's usually what happens here.
Except not today. Bug. Where is that girl?
Add the chopped onion. Cook and stir for a few minutes.
Then add the tomatoes. Cook a few minutes more.
If I don't find my Fuji user's manual soon
and find out why I'm having photographical angst,
I'm going to flush my camera down the toilet,
blame it on Bex and then ask Jay if I can
get a different camera.
We should get some pasta going.
Boil it according to the directions on the package.
Putting on some of mom's jewelry I see?
Well, be careful with that. Jewelry is valuable and
I'd hate to lose my elastic-stringed, plastic-
beaded bracelets from Target.
I went out to get some basil from the garden...
...and what did I find but this wee unexpected one:
Hello little snapdragon darling amongst the chives.
Where did you come from?
Look at these splendid basil leaves.
They're so dark and fragrant.
Tender, yet almost leathery between my fingers.
No manservant for miles around. What's a damsel in distress to do...
Oh, look! The pasta's done. Drain it and add it to the sauce in the skillet. Toss.