Cut the Take Out

Written by Lisa "The Crock Cook"

A long hard day at work. You get home and need dinner. Nothing inrepparttar fridge, nothing inrepparttar 113125 cupboard. Take-out again. The wallet just won’t comply much longer.


A long hard day at work (sorry can’t help with that one). You get home and mmmm, what is that aroma? Dinner! Smells delicious, your mouth is watering.

And no you didn’t go torepparttar 113126 wrong home and no you are not dreaming. You arranged all this, in a few minutes this morning.

What I wonrepparttar 113127 lotto and hired a personal chef?

Well no, not exactly – you got a Crock Pot. A Crock Pot? Yep, it’s a cooker that cooks your food over a slow heat. Put it on inrepparttar 113128 morning and dinner is ready at night.

Don’t think you’ve got time inrepparttar 113129 morning. Well you will be pleasantly surprised how quick it can be. Chuck in some veggies (frozen or pre-cut if really short on time), throw some meat on top, pour in a sauce, put onrepparttar 113130 lid and turn it on low. That’s it.

What Wise Guys Eat

Written by Skip Lombardi

When I lived inrepparttar North End of Boston, inrepparttar 113124 nineteen eighties and nineties, I hung around a neighborhood bar from time to time, called The Corner Café. It was located on Prince Street nearrepparttar 113125 corner of Salem Street. And it was indeed a neighborhood place. The owner, Richie Longo, was a neighborhood kid who grew up on Prince Street and duly attended Saint Leonard’s School—as his first generation Italian-American parents had—along with allrepparttar 113126 other neighborhood kids.

The regular patrons atrepparttar 113127 time, were neighborhood people too; all of whom seemed to have nicknames. (although,repparttar 113128 nicknames were useful for identification purposes). There was Joerepparttar 113129 Lawyer, who wasn’t a lawyer at all, but worked as an insurance investigator. Then there was Johnrepparttar 113130 Lawyer, who was a stockbroker, and Johnrepparttar 113131 Lawyer, who really was a lawyer with an office acrossrepparttar 113132 street. And I was always confused about Maryrepparttar 113133 Nurse, whose nickname seemed unnecessary; she was indeed a nurse, but she wasrepparttar 113134 only regular named Mary.

Then there wererepparttar 113135 rest ofrepparttar 113136 regulars: mostly young men ,who fancied themselves to be wise guys. Their conversations were peppered with phrases like ‘fuggeddaboudit,’ and ‘ba-da-bing!’ And they often talked about ‘needing to see this guy,’ or ‘having to take care of that thing.’ But despiterepparttar 113137 fact that they revered Robert DiNiro, and may have harbored dreams of being known by a nickname like “extreme unction,”repparttar 113138 most serious crime any of them may ever have committed was betting onrepparttar 113139 Red Sox late in September.

When these local heros weren’t talking about ‘this guy,’ or ‘that thing,’ though,repparttar 113140 conversation tended to stray toward food; often, toward Chicken Scarpariello. This was a hot dish—literally, and figuratively—during my years in Boston. Andrepparttar 113141 folks often debatedrepparttar 113142 qualities of one preparation over another. The talk often centered aroundrepparttar 113143 merits of Cantina d’Italia’s recipe, that included sausage, over Felicia’s, that didn’t. Sausage or not, though, Chicken Scarpariello isrepparttar 113144 kind of dish that would please any wise guy because it encourages eating with a fork in one hand an a torn-off piece of crusty bread inrepparttar 113145 other;repparttar 113146 latter, used for sopping uprepparttar 113147 sauce, and for punctuating various exclamations of ‘fuggeddaboudit,’ or ‘ba-da-bing.’

The short version ofrepparttar 113148 history of Chicken Scarpariello, ‘shoemaker’s-style’, is that it was named forrepparttar 113149 humble fellow who cobbled togetherrepparttar 113150 ingredients forrepparttar 113151 dish from his meager pantry. How it became a wise guy favorite is more obscure, and very likely lost to history. But I suggest that when you serve Chicken Scarpariello at home,repparttar 113152 dinner table conversation will become animated and rise a decibel or two above normal. And will you and your fellow diners enjoy it? Fuggeddaboudit.

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