Scran

I'm obsessed with "the rotation" at the minute. The meals that feature every week. I think years of Dolmio adverts feeding the idea that spaghetti bolognese is a sacred weeknight meal, or fajitas are for fridays. Chicken tonight. Etc. etc.

Either way routine is no bad thing and on days when one can not be even remotely fucked to engage the hat stand it is down right necessary.

Although not on rotation, but lazy enough due to the fridge full of phallic pork wands, temptation got the best of us and breakfast was a homemade-sausage sandwich. On cheap white sliced with sauerkraut (that came in a bag) and mustard. Lunch will no doubt be off the cards.

Mystic Meg over here. As predicted. Lunch was no where to be seen.

Right. About that rotation. Spaghetti alla norma, or aubergine spaghetti if you like to call spades "spades", started life as a Monday night dinner. Cooked right the aubergine is mushy but not bland. The pasta is firm but not gross words like toothsome. And under normal circumstances all health benefits would be completely and entirely obliterated by the metric bum load of cheese piled on top.

There was no cheese available.

Shit.

On the subject of the S word. I've had some awful aubergine pastas over the years. Most notably at a bistro in Brooklyn, devoid of any flavour other than unseasoned aubergine, I regretted it. But you live and learn.

Here's the rub: there is no such thing as "authentic" Italian food. Much the same way that Chinese or Indian or Mexican families will all have their own takes on their favourite dishes. It is perhaps the intent, the style of cooking and base ingredients that bring any given dish together into something deem-able as having authenticity. For pasta alla norma? Aubergine, basil, tomatoes and a salty cheese. The version I learned a million years ago has an addition of capers and a hint of chilli. The one I cook adds onion and occasionally a red pepper, out of personal preference more than pretending I know what the fuck I'm doing.