Here’s what I made the other night for supper.

In case you can’t read my chicken scratch, it’s a recipe for Alfredo sauce.

For some reason I’m a little nervous talking about Alfredo sauce. I have a feeling that chefs and real cooks are particular about sauces and that there is a very particular way in which they make an Alfredo sauce. And I don’t know the right way. I’m probably doing it all wrong, and when a chef sees this recipe, he’ll gasp and start hyperventilating because I neglected to mention that you have to add freshly-cracked black pepper. Or something. So that’s why I’m kind of anxious about sharing this recipe.

But now that I made that little disclaimer, I’ll shrug off all my inhibitions and tell you how it’s done. “Here’s how you make Alfredo sauce, people! It’s my way, or the highway!”

Whew! That’s better.

Alfredo Sauce
I got the recipe from my recipe box and I haven’t a clue how it got there. (I mean, I put it there, but I don’t know where I got the recipe from which I copied mine.)

My recipe calls for 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese and 1/4 cup Romano cheese, but I just do all Parmesan and then throw in some more for good measure. You can add other cheeses, too, but Parmesan is really, really good. I have also added creme fraiche before, with good results.

This recipe is supposed to be enough for one pound of cooked pasta, but I often double the recipe because some leftover sauce is great: add it to macaroni and cheese, put it on pizza, serve it over baked potatoes, spoon it into a lasagna, dish it over cooked, chopped-up, chicken, or serve it all up at once and make your one-pound of pasta swim in it.

3 tablespoons butter
8 ounces (1 cup) cream
salt
nutmeg
½ to 1 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated
1 egg yolk, beaten
More grated cheese for sprinkling over top, if you wish

Skim the cream from a jar of milk, or buy cream from the store. I don’t know if it matters if you use the heavy whipping cream or regular cream or half and half (just don’t use milk, unless you want to be a cheapskate), so experiment and see what you get. (Yes, I used the extra quarter cup of cream. I’m not very exact with my measurements, and I do love cream.)

Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan.

Add the cream and whisk well. Heat it over medium-low heat, or medium heat—you just don’t want to boil it.

Add a pinch of salt and the nutmeg. I like to grate mine fresh; it’s simple and fun to do, so don’t be intimidated.

I add about this much (maybe 1/4 teaspoon?):

Now stir in the cheese.

In a separate bowl, temper the egg yolk with some of the hot cream mixture, by adding a little of the cream mixture to the beaten egg and whisking it well. Then dump the tempered yolk into the cream mixture and stir well.

At this point, your sauce is done, but I added a couple basil cubes (last summer I whirled basil and olive oil together in the blender and froze the paste in ice cube trays), because I love basil.

Serve over hot fettuccine noodles. Or anything else that will hold still long enough for you to dump the sauce on top of it.

Eat with gusto.

(I hope that picture didn’t spoil your appetite. I just wanted to drive home the point that we really like the sauce.)

My Balding Bro and his Gentle Wife and Darling Daughter are moving to our neck of the woods in a couple weeks. (Yippee!) They are in the thros of packing and getting rid of stuff. They gave each of our kids a bag of doo-dads (excuse me, treasures), and Mr. Handsome and I even received our own little bag. We got: a can of Spam, a huge Rubbermaid spatula, a stale, giant-size marshmallow burger, and a can of Coke from Iraq. I was pretty excited about the Coke. Just the night before, while weeding the beans, I was fussing to Mr. Handsome about how I craved a Coke and Doritos. We even lightly toyed with the idea of running over to The Glen to the little store there.

My Balding Bro did not go to Iraq to get the Coke. I believe it came from one of his students whose father is in Iraq. Anyway, I was very intrigued by it.

Look how small it is. I think we would all be better off if they sold sodas in such small cans.

Here, you wanna see the nutrition label?

Mid-afternoon, after chilling the Coke for a couple hours, I decided it was time to imbibe. When I tried to open it, there was an exploding sound and the tab popped off. The Coke would only drip out.

So I took my rolling pin to it.

The can flipped over and a bunch of Coke fizzed down the drain.

It still only came out in a slow trickle.

But it sure was refreshing.

Mr. Handsome and I like to make deals and to place bets with each other. Once, when I was feeling unloved and uncared for by Mr. Handsome (yes, yes, our marriage is not without issues), I forced him to make a deal with me: Each person would try their best to meet the other person’s needs for a whole week—only think of the other person and not of themselves. It was actually a pretty fun deal.

Another time, we made a bet to see who could go the longest without spending money (outside of the basic, pre-determined expenditures). I won.

Yesterday morning, after a rough night with The Baby Nickel, I made a deal with Mr. Handsome. He gets The Baby Nickel out of our bed and I’ll get him potty-trained (something that’s been bugging Mr. Handsome). Right at this exact minute, 5:15 am, The Baby Nickel is upstairs crying and Mr. Handsome is doing his best to get him back to sleep. I’m ignoring them both.

Potty training isn’t going so smoothly.

Here he is, first thing in the morning, so he’s still in his diaper. He hides when he has to poop. If he knows he has to poop, why can’t I get him to just go do it on the potty? Why the aversion? Maybe if I offer to drape him with a blanket…

The guilty culprit emerges…

Last evening, unbeknownst to me, he pooped in his undies, pulled them down to his ankles, and then duck-walked from the driveway up onto the porch and into the house where I finally realized what was happening and snatched him up and plopped him in the tub. Mr. Handsome had to help clean up that one.