You might not know this about me, but I make pretty good spaghetti sauce; it’s a little bit spicy, with a hint of sweetness and great tomato-y depth. Well, I’m not so sure about the tomato-y depth part; I sort of made that up. It sounds good, no? Anyway, my spaghetti sauce makes Craig swoon and he’s typically not the swooning type. Now, if Mario Batali tasted my sauce, he’d probably disapprove, since, according to his standards, it’s not authentic marinara. However, normal people like it and that’s all that really matters. Besides, the chances of Mario Batali ever tasting my food are pretty slim.
I haven’t pulled out my trusty Crock Pot and made spaghetti sauce since Craig left. Caroline, who loves spaghetti as much as her dad, is entirely unopposed to jarred sauce, so that’s what I’ve been serving her the past few months. /lazy
However, she has recently requested the homemade stuff. Yesterday, I obliged. My reasons for honoring Caroline’s request are two-fold. 1.) it’s my duty to oblige her every whim (or so she makes it seem) and 2.) I needed sauce for a batch of pizza roll-ups I agreed to make for the Girls on the Run banquet we attended last night.
The best way to test sauce for appropriate seasoning is with bread. This is not a scientific fact, because science really aint my thang, but it’s what I like to do.
Oh yes, you better believe I double dipped.
The third dip is the charm.
Hey, it’s MY sauce and I can quadruple dip if I want to.
For the big Girls on the Run banquet, I even dusted off my bread maker and made homemade dough.
Here they are in their unbaked form. They’re like the pizza version of cinnamon rolls.
In my haste, I forgot to snap a picture of the final, baked product.
I was running around like the Tasmanian Devil last night trying to get my food + 3 girls to the banquet. Since I’m the buddy runner, I accompanied Sarah to the banquet. And of course, because we seem to travel in pacts (my honorary daughters and I), we also brought along Sarah’s sister, Rachel and, of course, Caroline. The girls were, as usual, a raucous bunch, but after the banquet formalities came to an end, they had fun running through the cafeteria and flinging rubber bands at the Got Milk? posters in the school cafeteria. Poor Taylor Swift, she got beamed in the head more than a few times.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention these beauties, as no
life banquet is complete without dessert.
Too bad they were all gobbled up last night, because looking at that picture makes me crave one rather intensely.
Pink paper makes cookies even more fun.
Especially when the paper coordinates with your race t-shirt.