Sunday Supper #2 and The Super Good Pasta Sauce

Another Rosenberg Sunday Supper has passed and it was a beauty. Jeff’s 92 –year-old grandmother, Grandma Sylvia, and her 95-year-old boyfriend, Nat, were visiting from Florida and were special guests for the evening. (Please do not tell Grandma Sylvia that I have revealed her age to the internet.) She brought her famous strudel cookies which she made in Florida and brought to California on the plane. I adore them both.

My friend Karen brought over a violin (and garlic bread). Grandma Sylvia is a former violin concert-mistress. To kick off the evening, she borrowed Karen’s instrument and laid down a few choruses of “Bei Mir Bist Du Schon." It was grand. Or as Nat put it, “You’ve still got it, Baby.”

We had about 40 of our favorite people crammed into the pad and there were plenty of eats. I made a giant batch of my favorite (gluten-free) pasta and pasta sauce. A number of people asked me what was in the sauce, which is generally a good sign, unless they are asking while spitting something into a napkin – and they were not. The sauce is good, super good. I got the recipe from my friend Loretta Palazzo back in 1994. With a name like “Loretta Palazzo,” you've got to trust the sauce recipe.

Bob wrapped up the evening by leading a few of our friends in a rousing "Doe a Deer" sing-a-long, and then an original work titled, "Poo Poo Song." Our friends are enthusiastic singers, good sports, and apparently enjoy a scatological tune. It was a fine evening.

Loretta Palazzo’s Super Good Pasta Sauce

½ cup olive oil
1 small red onion, chopped
8-12 garlic gloves, minced
1 medium zucchini chopped
½ pound mushrooms, sliced
1 small jar of artichoke hearts, including oil
1 big can of whole, peeled tomatoes
1 small can of tomato paste
½ cup red cooking wine
red pepper flakes, to taste
fresh basil, oregano, and Italian parsley to taste, chopped (I usually do about a half cup each)
black pepper to taste

Sautee first 5 ingredients until onions are translucent. Add remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil, then lower temperature and simmer for at least 30 minutes.

The sauce is also fantastic with spaghetti squash. Or just eaten straight out of the pot while it’s cooking on the stove… from what I hear.

Smacksy Sunday Link: Sketchy Santas

Thanks to my friend Lora for turning me on to the disturbing gem of a photo blog, Sketchy Santas. The rest of the year, a strange old man asking a child to sit on his lap is a felony. Perhaps that should also be true in December. Lock up your children, Santa Claus is coming to town.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: I Was A Teen Elf

So this is 16 year-old me at my holiday after-school job at the Capitola Mall. My friend Scott, also 16, is Santa.

This is not the primary thing I would like to have in common with David Sedaris, but so far, it is.

You have 20 shopping days left, less if you're doing Hanukah. Happy Ho Ho.

To Santa, From Bob Rosenberg

Dear Mr. Santa,
I know we may not have a lot of private time to talk next Thursday at the Farmer’s Market when we’re there for pictures, so I am writing you this letter.

You seem super nice on TV. Rudolph is my favorite reindeer but during that show I get up and hide my eyes during the Abominable Snow Man part and also when that mean elf (that mom says sounds like Lewis Black) yells at the short dentist. I don’t know Lewis Black but I know Rudolph and he seems good and that everyone should stop yelling at him.

This whole naughty versus nice deal I'm not so sure about but I guess I've been really nice especially if you are willing to overlook my try-to-scare-the-cat-and-get-her-to-run-into-the-closet-by-all-the-boots game that I was playing a lot in April. Our cat, Pearl, hisses at me sometimes but she is crabby and I think she secretly likes me. Sometimes.

Don’t take it personally if our dog Daisy barks at you during your chimney part of going in our living room on Christmas. Daisy doesn’t like uniforms like the mailman or the UPS guy or the FedEx guy. I think maybe your big elf uniform will fall into her “don’t like” category. I will leave you some cookies and snacks and if you give her one, she will be your friend and try to lick your neck and maybe try to steal the rest of the snacks, so look out.

Today I handed my mom the toys catalog to show her what I wanted for Christmas presents. She asked me which thing I was looking at in there and I told her I was looking at everything in there. She said I should narrow it down to one thing or that I could let you pick for me. Mr. Santa, I know you are a busy guy and everything so I thought you could save yourself the hassle of going through all the pages in the toys catalog and picking and just send over all of the toys in there since it’s all really good stuff, even the girl things. My mom thought this was not a good idea so I thought I should tell you myself in case she doesn’t give you my message.

Have a good flight and please tell Rudolph I think his red light up nose is neat and if I had one on my face I wouldn’t use that nightlight of a seahorse anymore. See you on Thursday.

Your pal,
Bob Rosenberg

I Beg You

Please, write your own caption.

The Child Is Hers

Portrait of Daisy by Bob Rosenberg

Before Bob was born, we were given excellent advice about introducing our new baby to the other baby, our dog Daisy. We had heard stories of jealous pets, pets who act out, pets who start turf wars with infants. We were hoping to avoid this. Our dog is very gentle but it was impossible to know exactly what to expect.

As instructed, when we brought Bob home for the first time, we left him outside and Jeff and I went in and quickly said hello to the dog without the baby. (Relax, little Bob was inside our locked yard, grandma out of sight standing guard.) Then we opened the door and let Daisy into the yard to "discover" the baby and then waited for her to come back and "tell us" about him.

She discovered the baby, her baby. He has been her baby ever since. Bob himself describes their relationship this way, "When I feel happy, Daisy is happy. When I am sad, Daisy is worried." She is a sweet Mama. (He crawled into the crate himself. I swear.)

Bob's Gratitude Leaf

At least he's honest.