cacciatore.

that's the hunter's feast, my ninjas.
cacciatore.
one big bowlful of excellent.

in keeping with the rockin' really loud and hard of the rabbit-rabbit-ness.
which is traditionally what's IN the hunter's feast.
i didn't really do much hunting.
i didn't even wear any camouflage.
in fact,
outside of going to the grocery store,
i mostly just roamed around outside.
plucking herbs, y'all.
yeah.
herb plucking, y'know,
like out of the gardens.
rosemary and basil from the upstairs deck garden.
greek oregano, sweet marjoram, and sage
straight off the stalks at the front of the house rock spot,
and italian oregano and lemon balm from the big garden.
it's not exactly hunting.
i mean,
i planted 'em,
so i knew where they were.
but i also know that they're mutha-flippin' delicious.
dang.
and with bow-tie pasta?
c'mon, neighbors.
farfalle is their grown up name.
it means butterflies.
but i like to think of it more like moths.
because those're waaay more sexy.
in unrelated observation,
i also find it amusing that chevrolet uses the 'bow tie' logo,
since mostly rednecktardbots drive 'em up here.
you get it?
yeah, you do.
they'd never wear a real bow tie,
or probably even eat farfalle if they knew what it meant.
i'm sayin'.
anyway,
cacciatore is good for your face.
and my face needed a couple of shark-gluttonous bowlfuls.
to fill the empty spot left by failure.
awwwww, man.
i attempted a major woodsly rock heist.
but,
even with two duders, levers, backbreaking lifty-squats,
and assorted grunts and grumbles,
the rocks were too big and unwieldy.
dang.
dirty, sweaty, hundred-degree defeat.
and with some showcase rocks right there on the roadside,
taunting the gardeny hottness of the fortress and it's warriors.
dang.
by dinnertime,
it was hard even lifting my fork, kids,
with the jellied spindle-noodle arms i was left with afterwards.
with my mouth full of awesome,
i reflected on the half-full news.
we didn't leave empty-handed,
or empty truck-bedded, either.
we got another 'nother lined-up and eroded,
super-sz'huan striated behemoth though.
check the teleport:

c'mon.
with real bits of bossy moss?
yeah.
that's what's good.
rocks,
and so much dinner, duders.
i doo-doo that hot meal waitin' type hard style sh!t.
i mean it.
the wifey was working,
so you just know i had to show some gratitude.
that's viking feast funtimes,
via italian recipes,
alongside vegan sensibilites,
with fresh woodsly ingredients.
real life,
all around us,
in our bellyholes,
and in our hearts.
it's all always going on and on and on;
never quiet, never soft.....