Like most people, I've never actually read Cymbeline. I just picked this name because I wanted to make a pun about how Imogen really "Heap"-ed on the italian sausage in this bowl. Get it? Like the band? With that one song?
Pictured here is Imogen - come on, you know that song! It was, like, super popular in 2009 or so.
Those of you who recall The Taming of the Shrew will remember that the titular "shrew" was a woman who was transformed from an unlikable harpy to a simpering child thanks to the manipulation of a clever man. This dish is the "before" half of Katherina.
Pictured here is Katherina - vail your stomachs.
None of my friends were able to dine with me tonight, so I ventured into the Olive Garden solo for the first time. It's not that I don't have many friends - I actually have quite a lot. Like, I originally figured I'd go with a new friend to the Olive Garden pretty much every night, and I'd even have friends left over after that. But I guess tonight most people were busy. It's not a big deal. Like I said, I've got a ton of friends, so it wasn't even sad or anything. Sometimes I even prefer to eat alone.
Lunch was "Despair".
Dinner was comprised of three plates of pasta:
Looking forward to tomorrow.
A special thanks to my dining companion, myself! I couldn't find anyone to take my picture but you can just imagine me in the corner there where my friends normally are.
A good bowl of pasta is like a good book - you often will learn as much about yourself as you will the author. Despair is a great example of this - the shrimp plump in your stomach to give you an unnerving sense of being physically full, but emotionally empty, while the spicy three meat sauce causes your eyes to water a little bit. Yeah, that's just the sauce. It's really spicy.
Pictured here is Despair.
Shrimp, like all ocean bottom-feeders, are communal in nature, yet they all fall prey to the mighty shark. So, really, if you think about it, the shark, even though he lives alone, wins in the end. The shrimp's friends can't save him when the shark comes by. The shark eats them all, every time.
Pictured here is Solitaire.
In theory, all meat-based dishes in the bowl should be a constant reminder of the fragility of life. One minute, you're living high on the hog - or you are a hog - and the next, you're part of some middle manager's second bowl of noodles and ground-up chunks of your carcass. He doesn't even finish you. The busboy scrapes your remains into a giant bucket without a thought, and your earthly form returns from whence it came - the padlocked dumpster behind the Olive Garden.
Pictured here is Mortality.
There are certain things man was not meant to eat. Today, my body made it quite clear to me that "Nothing but pasta, forever," is near the top of that list. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say it will take some time for equillibrium to be re-established and for me to restore order among the bacterial fauna of my gut.
Lunch was "Man Vs. Pasta".
Dinner was comprised of four plates of pasta:
I remain confident that this was a minor setback, and thanks to my companion, I got to try a bonus dish without dedicating an entire platter to it!
A special thanks to my dining companion, Vinegar!
In our culture, manliness is primarily defined by two traits: meat-eating, and a reckless disregard for one's own health. Man Vs. Pasta fulfills both of these in spades, and would be at home in any bachelor's cookbook.
Pictured here is Man Vs. Pasta, complete with hearty links of italian sausage, thick, meat-filled sauce, and a pasta that is best described as "rugged".
Some people climb Everest and feel no sense of accomplishment or relief, but only the thirst for a greater challenge, one that may not exist, and the quest for which will ultimately destroy them. These people look upon the five separate cheeses in the Five Cheese Marinara and know that their destiny awaits them with the judicious application of a sixth cheese, hand-grated by a waiter with a permanent expression of horror frozen on their face.
Pictured here is the only known photograph of Cheezilla, as none have yet made it to the "share to instagram" button before collapsing from immediate cardiac arrest.
I've never been married, and if I make it through 49 days of the Pasta Bowl, I likely never will. Still, this is what I imagine married couples eat at the end of the week - random hunks of food left in the refrigerator, combined in such a way that makes edibility a secondary concern to "doing something with the sausage before it goes bad".
Pictured here is the End Of The Week, and doesn't it just make you yearn for Friday?
Something about the unnatural orange goo of 5 Cheese Marinara, combined with the crusty breading of Chicken Fritta, along with the tough wholesomeness of the Whole Wheat Linguini really brings to mind the heatstroke-filled days of the summertime fair.
Pictured here is A Day At The Fair. Can't you smell the corndogs?! Warning: if you actually do smell corn dogs, and are not currently reading this blog form an actual fair, this may be an early symptom of schizophrenia. Please, seek help.