Out of control

Robert had a rough trip -- nothing special beyond the 4,833 insults, degra- dations and invasions that have become commonplace in air travel, but still. . . .

He was tired when he got home, and said that since he hates eating out alone it had been mostly sandwiches in Key West. And to think I'd stocked up on smoked turkey and honey ham to get ready for him.

So I cooked him up something he could have had down the street at La Trattoria: capellini with a nice little sauce of crisped pancetta and sliced garlic (lots of it) in olive oil, finished with a dollop heavy cream and some excellent romano, shredded in the new/old KitchenAid, all sprinkled with fresh peas.

It was a thing of beauty if I do say so myself, one of those carillons of flavor that keeps ringing its deep bells after you've put the fork down.

While I was slicing and sauteeing and perfuming the kitchen, Robert took the Gator for a ride-around, to see how things had fared in his absence. "Looks like the elephant ears don't need much help," he said with uncharacteristic understatement.