More, please, sir?

I know I get obsessed by food sometimes, so if you don't get it, click off.

But it was the con- vergence of Franny thoughts and my mom's pasta machine that made me cook Franny's chicken lasagna for Monday's on-premises bridge.

I have to remember at some point that three eggs and 3 cups of flour yield more pasta than one can deal with readily. But beyond that, and the amounts of bechamel and its thickness, it was a sealed deal.

Poached chicken breasts, cream and chicken-reduction sauce, herbs, Jarlsberg, Parm-Reg, garlic -- makes life worth living . . .

And enough noodles, with a bit of the leftover bechamel and pork with juices from the weekend appetizer, ground and augmented, for tomato-red lasagna to give to my mom to serve for a little party while we're away. It'll be the freshest thing in her freezer.

The bridge bunch sent back clean plates, anyway.