Last night I had a dream. It was late August, and I was
sitting at the kitchen table staring at a stack of sliced
Jersey tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, with some kind
of balsamic vinaigrette drizzled over it. There were shreds
of fresh basil scattered over and around it, and what
appeared to be sauteed mushroom caps on top
and surrounding. I was somewhat confused, half knowing
that it was a long way til summer, yet thrilled that
somehow I'd managed to travel forward through time to
savor the dish that I crave nine months out of the year.
Then, as if by magic, there appeared a most brasserie-type dish:
Onglet grillé avec des oignons frits! Hanger steak with frizzled
onions. Anthony Bourdain, eat your heart out. This cut of meat,
being situated so close to the kidneys, has that oh-so-subtle
nuance of offal offerings (I can just imagine the snide comments
coming). It's like no other steak you've ever had. This is the kind
of stuff I dream about. Tony, eat your kidneys out too.
My dream was cut short by the sight of yogurt with fresh fruit
and granola. What did I do to deserve this? It seemed like
there were sirens going off and all of a sudden I felt a
sharp pain in my ribcage. I quickly woke up and realized I
had set the house alarm, forgetting that college daughter was
home on break, and out earlier with friends, and that she
would actually be sleeping home tonight. The sharp pain came
from my wife jabbing me to get up and disarm the alarm.
Shortly thereafter, the house phone rang:
'Yes, this is so-and-so security. We received an alert that
your security system has been tripped. May I have your
password please, Mr. Dog?' Er Uh......................tomatoe?
