Man, wrote the great novelist and raconteur Jim Harrison, was not created to eat small portions. That’s why Italian eateries are always close to my soft-spot. Yes, the ubiquitous Italian restaurant may vary in quality, consistency, service and range of offering. But you ain’t going to leave any of them hungry.
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When my hero died, I hit the freezer seeking a bag of dead sheep stomach. Jim Harrison, the last of the great red-blooded male American writers, passed over Easter. And with Jim having been a bit of a gourmand, I decided to make a big pot of something meaty, hearty and comforting, something the great man would have approved of. Remember, this is the guy who once wrote: “Men were not born to eat small portions.”
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It was good getting some decent wine down the hatch, I tell you that. For the festive season was pretty much a blur of copious amounts of craft beer, ice-cold Black Velvets and too many of my handmade Dry Martinis, the latter of which I happen to be a master in their creating.
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