Making Spaghetti Sauce with a Moron

OK, Class.  Today is “Cooking Spaghetti Sauce with Robin” day.  Listen closely, and perhaps you, too, can learn to cook like a moron.

First, go to the Farmer’s market and buy the weirdest chicken or turkey sausage you can find. (Remember – you are deluding yourself that this is good for you.)  Today it will be apple chicken sausage from the cute Amish woman’s stand.

Come home from work, ditch your clothes, and immediately get into your pajamas.  Take a nice “after work” shit.  Ah.  Now you’re ready.  Wait!  Did you wash your hands?  Go back and wash your hands.  That’s gross.

Go to the weird kitchen painted “mango” and green, that Adam thinks looks like an LSD trip where you saw a psychotic clown. ( I couldn’t deal with the bland light blue and white of the original kitchen.  I told Adam that he is a psychotic clown, so he should feel right at home.)

Now open 2 large cans of Contadina Tomato Sauce, 1 large can of pureed tomatoes, and 1 can of tomato paste.  Dump them all in a pot and set to medium high.  Stir it when you feel like it.

Cut up the chicken sausage and throw it in a non stick pan.  Saute those little buggers.  Oops!  Something hot just hit you in the face.  That would be the tomato sauce boiling unevenly.  Give it the finger.  Then put a lid on the stupid pot.  Sprinkle in oregano, basil, and garlic powder until it tastes kind of yummy.  Dodge the tomato sauce drops when they try to kill you.

Cut up 3 orange peppers.  Dump them into the sauce.  Dump your sausage into the sauce.  This is what it looks like.  (Don’t worry.  The dogs didn’t vomit into the pot when you weren’t looking.)

Now realize that you forgot to put water on for the spaghetti.  Knock yourself in the forehead with the palm of your hand.  Say, “Duh!”  Now put water on for the spaghetti.

You and your kitchen counter are splattered with spaghetti drops.  Know why?  The pot needs a lid.  Try to find the right size lid among the billions of lids in your pot drawer.  This is annoying.  You may curse if you’d like – there’s no one in the kitchen but you and the dogs.

The spaghetti is done.  Drain it and stick it back in the pot.  Go get a big chunk of Parmasan Reggiano and grate a bunch so it looks fancy and sort of like you know what you’re doing.  It also distracts from the tomato sauce splatters all over everything.

Now call everyone down to dinner.  Bask in their praise.  Tell your son Kevin it’s his turn to do the dishes.  Offer to help him wipe off the tomato splatters.  (He’d never do it, anyway.)  Listen to him whine.  Watch Alex and Adam run out of the kitchen before they’re asked to do anything.

There.  Wasn’t that a cinch?  Pass the Valium, please.