sophis-tee-cated

We're having a very sort of European-style dinner tonight. And by that I mean that it's nine p.m. and I'm still in the chopping-tomatoes-and-listening-to-reggaeton stage of things. I don't know if the reggaeton per se is a European thing, but I feel like chopping tomatoes after sunset on a Friday makes me, if not exactly French, at least a little more sophisticated than I was last night. When I was in bed by 8:45. Reading a teenage vampire book.

I really love late dinners, actually, and not because they make me feel especially fancy or French at all. It's because I can take my time and enjoy the making of them.

Let's face it, if you haven't even started mincing the garlic by eight-fifteen, you're not eating anytime before nine. Might as well slow down. Pour a glass of wine. Tenderly wash the pesticides off each tomato. If you're not eating until nine, you might as well not eat until ten. Or whatever. All the pressure -- dice the carrots! Grate the apples! Saute those onions! For god's sake, the onions! -- simply melts away.

So, tonight I'm making the tortelloni again because it involves a big ol' handful of basil, and I was informed by someone the other day that we had "too much basil" in the Humidity Controlled Crisper. First of all, what he's doing in the Crisper is beyond me. There is no peanut butter in the Crisper. Nor bananas. Nor hot chicks of any variety.

And second, can a person have "too much basil"?

As someone who knows a couple of French people, I say, "Absolutely not! Har har har!".

Then I turn up the reggaeton.