Pasta sauce

HOW TO MAKE FAST AND SAD PASTA SAUCE THAT STILL TASTES KINDA PASSABLE

My mother hates my cooking. I like cooking. Sometimes we'll have a fridgeful of leftovers but I still just have to cook. It's a disorder. I should get the damn thing treated. Or I can cope. With this recipe. It's pseudo-Italian; nobody's grandmother will be pleased, but hot damn if my crappy plate of pasta and tomato sauce doesn't taste like joy.

Start by boiling pasta. Why the heck would you make pasta sauce without making some pasta to eat with the stupid stuff? You could do this by getting a huge pot, fetching enough water to sustain a small organic farmer for two months, watching your stupid fingernails grow while you wait for it to boil, boil your pasta, then pour out all the water while the founders of some Kickstarter-funded African charity quietly weep to themselves.

The easier, better method is to cook in a shallow pan. Place your pasta in the bottom, and cover them with about a centimeter of water. Less water equals faster boiling time, which equals faster cooking time, and all the water will either boil off or get absorbed, meaning less water wasted and more eco-activist creeps pleased. Amen.

Now: on to your sauce. Grab every form of tomato you have: fresh, canned, ketchup, premade sauce, whatever. Fresh tomatoes are probably the best here. Choose the juicier ones; they'll cook down faster and create more sauce, and if you're not trying to make sauce, why the heck are you reading this? Chop them up into small pieces (the smaller, the better; remember, we're going for a smooth sauce here, and you'll eventually mash the dumb things, so you might as well do it now) and make sure you don't spill any of the juice.

Got onions? Got garlic? Chop them up and throw them in a hot pan with some oil until they smell nice. If you don't have any, that's a shame, it's sad and unfortunate, it's a modern tragedy, but you can just throw the tomatoes in on their own and you can regret it in Heaven all you want. Listen to the pretty-sounding sizzling and give them a stir every so often so you feel like you're doing something productive. If you're a creep who likes mushrooms in their sauce, add them now, I guess, just know that I'll judge you for it and there's not a darn thing you can do about it. Wait until your tomatoes begin breaking down and softening, then add any other tomato products you have- ketchup, tomato paste, friggin' premade tomato sauce- it's all good. Also herbs. Add basil if you can. Fresh basil is really something special, if you have any. But of course you don't. Use the dried stuff from a three-month-old shaker bottle and cry yourself a river, being sure not to dilute the sauce with your tears.

"Can I use oregano? Can I use thyme?" Be my guest. "Can I use freaking fenugreek?" Don't push it.

Now comes the time when you create an actual sauce from your gloopy salsa-esque mixture. You can do this with your spoon, slowly and meticulously smashing chunks of tomato against the sides of your pan. Or you can break out your trusty ol' potato masher and get the job done in what, seven-and-a-half seconds, and have a heckuva lot more fun doing it. But it's your life, you can do what you want to. It's your party and you can cry if you want to. Meanwhile, I need to pick a song to reference and stick to the stupid thing.

Let it cook for a while. Stir it and feel accomplished and chef-y. Add salt, probably, since I realized I haven't mentioned it and you should probably have some salt in your sauce. Add water if it boils down too much. The brilliant thing about this sauce is that it takes about as long to make as it takes to boil your pasta, so by now it should be done. Drain it in a colander and quickly throw it in your pan with your sauce. Stir it around until your pasta looks tasty and red, then spoon it out and top it with more sad dried basil and copious amounts of green shaker-bottle Parmesan cheese.

Feel satisfied in your cooking binge. Look forward to the next time you can cook, safely, without your mom yelling at you to just eat the damn leftovers because it's simpler. Because life ain't about the simpleness. It's about the happiness.

Actually, it's about making lame excuses for your crappy, self-diagnosed addictions.