GTL Thursday: Meatball problems

I wonder...

If I put on a slip, an ugly sweater, rumple my hair, go heavy on the eyeliner, sprawl on the floor and look at the camera with a cross between a "double dare you" and "come hither" look...would I look anything like Reese?

Nope. Don't expect I will.

GTL Thursday: Motivation

Apparently Snooki lost 15 pounds through a combination of some creepy diet pills and regular GTL.

I don't support the pill popping, but I am motivated by the power of a gym visit. What motivates you?

GTL Countdown

Cari amici,

Did you realize that it is only one week until the next season of the Shore?!?

How are you spending the final countdown? Here's my plan:

Today is T time: I received a free sample of Kate Somerville 360-self tanner-wipe-things from my own personal Mecca--Sephora. I plan to try it out on my relatively pale self.   I'll let you know if I turn out looking (a) fresh to death (b) like a piece of pumpkin pie or (c) something in between.

Friday: Working out with my trainer, Joanne. Since my ankle is still swollen and blue, we'll be focusing on my core...aka my situation.  That's right.

Saturday: Laundry by day. Fist pumping by night.

Sunday: Meatballs. Lots of them. At family dinner. With my dad, Vinnie.  And my Grandma, Angelina.  Yes, these are their real names. No, my grandmother is not the Kim Kardashian of Staten Island.

Monday: Dinner and vino with a fellow guidette, Signorina DiChiara.

Tuesday: Feast of the Seven Fishes (this traditional Christmas celebration is being broken out several months early for SHARK WEEK...assuming I get the invites out in time...)

Wednesday: Ragu bolognese on spaghetti squash. All covered with cheese.

Thursday: Peeing my pants with excitement.

Until then, I'll be biding my time, working and planning and hoping to be as fresh to death as possible by August 4th.

In the meantime, remember this?  My how far we have come...

The Italian American Identity

The Italian-American identity is one full of both tragedy and triumph - the struggle of proud, religious, life-loving, (not to mention attractive) people stained by an unjust curse of criminality--invariably perpetuated today by crime writers, TV shows (both reality and fictional) and movies.

My dad Vincent, a very proud Italian American, banned The Sopranos from our home--rightfully so. We also never watched The Godfather, or Goodfellas.

Of course, curiosity eventually killed the proverbial gatto, and I snuck Tony, Carmella and the entire Corleone clan (yes--even Sophia) into my bedroom's cheap Target dvd player.

Sitting in my bedroom, full of guilt and fear of being caught by dad, I saw the appeal: the glamour and the family ties. The rules, passion, tragedy, and ruthlessness.  And the blood; all that blood. I understand that this combination is very...compelling.

What I still do not understand: why it is always Italian? Can't we write screenplays about some other race of people picking up the racketeering slack?  In reality, Italians are not dominating the American mob scene--although no one seems to believe otherwise.

Despite our successes in academia, government, entertainment and industry, one survey showed that 78% of teens and 74% of adults in America still identify Italians with blue-collar jobs or organized crime; the U.S. Justice Department says 67% are white collar workers and executives, and only .075% are mobsters.

Let's see this statistic again: .075!

And yet, the fascination with the Italian mafia lives on, and the Italian American identity continues to suffer. Last week, VH1 premiered Mob Wives--yet another show that indirectly perpetuates this stigma. A rep from UNICO National (an Italian-American interest group) said about the VH1 reality tv show, "we were mobsters and mafiosos with 'The Sopranos,' bimbos and buffoons with 'Jersey Shore,' and now we're back where we started. It's a disgrace."

I'll admit it, I saw the first episode of Mob Wives. Did you? Like most trash reality television, it was horribly, atrociously, appalling compelling. Although I was fascinated by the train-wreck lives these women are leading, I'm not going to let myself watch it again. I'm taking a stand--Vinnie Festino style--and staging a one-woman protest.  Join me, won't you?

The one part of Mob Wives that I am not ignoring is the fantastic theme song...sang, ironically enough, by a band called Rock Mafia.

Sidenote: do you know where the word Mafia comes from? Some sources say it is an acroynm coined during a time when Italy was at war with France: Morte Alla Francia Italia Anela! (Death to France, cries Italy!)

GTL Thursday: On top of spaghetti...all covered with cheese

I'm an Italian who doesn't eat pasta.

I have early stages of type 2 diabetes. Wah wahhhhh.

While I don't have to shoot up or test my levels every day, I do have to avoid sugar and carbs. When I cheat, I experience awesome sugar highs. When I'm not snacking regularly, I get looow (3-6-9, damn you fine). I can't really drink more than one glass of wine in a sitting without getting giddy, and I can't eat a few forkfuls of pasta without gaining 3 lbs on the spot. Basically, sugar is my kryptonite.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love love love pasta. But, like so many of my failed relationshps, pasta doesn't love me back. Or maybe, just maybe, it DOES love me back. Too much. And thats why it sticks to my thighs and hips and cheek bones. The more I talk about, the more I realize that me and Pasta have a bad romance...kinda like Ronnie and Sammi Sweetheart...but I digress...

On Sundays, the whole Festino family is feasting on gravy smothered linguini...and I'm limited to meatballs. I sit there. Watching them twirl the languid noodles around their forks.

It is mocking me, this pasta.

And so I become Miss Pissy because all I want is a bowl of the starchy-white-deliciousness of the fresh fusili.

I miss it. Everyday. This is no blogger's hyperbole. I literally ache for a bowl of spaghetti carbonara.

Don't worry. This is not a pity-party masquerading as a GTL post. I actually have some wonderful news for the Guidos out there who don't want the carbs of pasta to counteract and nullify their hard work at the gym.

Tonight, I had a bowl of spaghetti bolognese. And I don't feel sick or guilty or like a passenger on the Good Ship Lollipop. I feel awesome. Perche? Because it was spaghetti squash.

Yea. I know. I didn't believe the hype either. Pasta from a squash? Ewwwww. Thanks-but-no-thanks. I've ignored it for years.

But then, during one Sunday dinner last month my cousin Maria made it for me and I took a bite...with some hesitation...and BAM. Santa Cleopatra! I realized what I had been missing!

The guts of this large vegetable look like spaghetti. The texture, when cooked properly, isn't too different either. And best of all, it tastes like it too. That is, it tastes like nothing...just like the chewy al dente heaven of real spaghetti.

Don't take from me. Try it yourself. Here's what you need to know:

Choose a firm spaghetti squash with no bruises. A four-pound squash will have a yield of about four cups.

Everything I've read says you should scrub the squash very well--even though you don't eat the rind.

To prevent the squash from breaking open during baking, pierce it all over with a skewer. This is especially important if you are microwaving it.

To bake in the oven: Preheat the oven at 375ºF. Halve or quarter the squash, clean out the pulp and place the pieces in a shallow baking pan, rind side up, and bake for 40 minutes or more, depending on the size. Test for doneness with a fork. I've read that you can also bake it whole, but it takes longer.

Sidenote: Do not throw the seeds away. They are good roasted. Simply toss in a little bit of olive oil (not greasy), sprinkle with some sea salt, and bake for about twenty minutes to one hour at 250ºF, depending on quantity. Serve warm.

To microwave: Place in a microwave dish, cut sides up, with about a quarter cup of water. Cover and set the timer for about eight to twelve minutes, depending on the size. Test for doneness with a fork. Let stand for a few minutes before taking the squash out.

To boil: Place the squash in boiling water and let boil for about twenty minutes or so, depending on the size. Test for doneness with a fork.

As soon as sufficiently cool, scrape a kitchen fork over the soft side of the squash and give birth to your faux spaghetti strands. It is that easy!

Serve alone or as a side dish. I recommend covering it in homemade gravy or bolongese and some romano cheese...like I did here:

Doesn't it look JUST LIKE SPAGHETTI??

Thoughts? Have you ever tried spaghetti squash? Does it just freak you out? Do you have other pasta alternatives worth trying?