So Thai Pongal is coming up. It's a Tamil harvest festival, where we celebrate the sun, the harvest, and delicious food. Traditionally, white rice and yellow lentils are cooked together with ginger, black pepper, mustard & cumin seed, asafoetida, and curry leaves. Nuts are added if you can afford them, and the whole thing is sort of the ultimate comfort dish. It's a bit mushy, and creamy. It's got this real stomach-filling, comforting feeling whenever I eat a bowl. Think of it like the South Indian answer to macaroni and cheese.
I don't quite have the patience, however, to fiddle around with white rice, and its propensity to stick to the bottom of any cooking pot I put on the stove. I also don't much care for the long cooking time. When I want pongal quickly, I cheat. I use cooked rice, and cooked mung daal (the split one).
4 cups cooked brown rice
2 cups mung beans, soaked for 1 hour
4 cups water
3 TB vegetable oil (preferably a mix of peanut and sesame oil)
1/2 tsp mustard seed
1/2 tsp cumin seed
1/8 tsp asafoetida
1/4 tsp turmeric (optional; I like a bright yellow pongal, but you may prefer yours more light coloured)
1/4 cup grated ginger (do NOT substitute dried or candied ginger)
2 stalks curry leaves (if you can't find them, substitute 3 leaves of sage for a wonderful flavour)
Salt, to taste
Generous grindings of black pepper
2 cups water, reserved
In a pot, add the vegetable oil, and let it heat over high heat. While the oil heats, drain off the mung beans. Add the mustard seeds, and allow them to pop. Add the cumin seeds and asafoetida. Wait 5 seconds. Sprinkle in the turmeric, and stir well. Add the ginger, curry leaves and a generous bit of salt. Add the drained mung beans, Add the 4 cups of water, and allow to come to the boil. Because the stove is so hot, the water should take about a minute flat to come to the boil.
Let the beans boil for a good 7 minutes. They should be mostly cooked by now. Stir around, to make sure nothing is sticking to the bottom. In another 5 - 8 minutes, the mung beans should be cooked through. Add the cooked brown rice. Stir well to combine.
Keep cooking over high heat. Once the pot comes to a boil, you'll notice the brown rice try to absorb all the liquid remaining. Pour in some of the reserved water, and let it come back to the boil. Let the brown rice and beans cook together for another 5 minutes. By now, you'll have likely used about 1 cup of the reserved liquid (or more, if your stove is very hot, or your brown rice was on the firm side).
Once everything is boiled together, check for salt. Add generous grinds of black pepper, and serve piping hot, with coconut chatni, kootu, sambhar, or green beans curry.
Showing posts with label pongal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pongal. Show all posts
10 January 2013
23 October 2007
Mornings. ::shudder::
I'm not a morning person by definition, but it looks like I may be by design. For whatever reason, I sat up at 3:45 AM today, and didn't feel like going back to sleep. After my usual glass of water, I took one look at the fridge, the living room, and the kitchen, and quietly screamed inside. This will simply not do. The fridge was outright empty, the living room had what seemed to be a quarter tonne of junk mail, old magazines, and random other flotsam washing up from the shores of the couches and tables and every other space open surface there was. I couldn't see much of a floor. And we're flying out on Saturday.
First thing's first, which was to work on the fridge. As I've probably mentioned a few million times by now, I like to make large quantities of soups, stews, and stocks, and leave myself my own version of a frozen food aisle in my freezer. They come in handy for rainy days, or for whenever you haven't gone shopping in a while, and need to crank out a meal in a hurry. I set the microwave to stun, and let a large bowl of mung bean soup defrost (and recook, of course). I also pitched in the flour, water, yeast, and salt into my breadmaker, so that I'd have a fresh steamy loaf when I get home this afternoon. I also managed to ferret out a dish of pasta that I'd left in the freezer for emergency rations. Having 2 pita breads, and a small pot of hummus in the fridge (along with bottles of water, because it's ungodly hot out here) and nothing more to eat is what I'd call a code red emergency. Also, we're not going to be here all that long, so there you go.
Hold on. I should qualify what I mean by nothing to eat. Since the world revolves around me (Galileo got it wrong), I mean specifically that there was nothing for me to eat. There is still a whole mess of aubergine and a bunch of red wine marinated baked beets. Technically there's plenty of food for people to eat, but none for me. Oh yeah, and the Venn Pongal, of course. Granted, I don't count it, because I've already had it twice since I made it.
Damn. I am spoiled.
First thing's first, which was to work on the fridge. As I've probably mentioned a few million times by now, I like to make large quantities of soups, stews, and stocks, and leave myself my own version of a frozen food aisle in my freezer. They come in handy for rainy days, or for whenever you haven't gone shopping in a while, and need to crank out a meal in a hurry. I set the microwave to stun, and let a large bowl of mung bean soup defrost (and recook, of course). I also pitched in the flour, water, yeast, and salt into my breadmaker, so that I'd have a fresh steamy loaf when I get home this afternoon. I also managed to ferret out a dish of pasta that I'd left in the freezer for emergency rations. Having 2 pita breads, and a small pot of hummus in the fridge (along with bottles of water, because it's ungodly hot out here) and nothing more to eat is what I'd call a code red emergency. Also, we're not going to be here all that long, so there you go.
Hold on. I should qualify what I mean by nothing to eat. Since the world revolves around me (Galileo got it wrong), I mean specifically that there was nothing for me to eat. There is still a whole mess of aubergine and a bunch of red wine marinated baked beets. Technically there's plenty of food for people to eat, but none for me. Oh yeah, and the Venn Pongal, of course. Granted, I don't count it, because I've already had it twice since I made it.
Damn. I am spoiled.
19 October 2007
Old standbys are there, as always.
Of course, since the move is coming up so soon, Steve and I are streamlining our lives, as well as our pantries and fridges and the like. Unfortunately, that means that we've more or less eaten everything else. It's vaguely embarrassing when the child of a mother whose cupboards are overflowing with food, who had to buy a second fridge to keep up with the amount of food, and whose family entertained almost every night is down to the components of food-like things.
There's split peas. There's oil, but I'd rather not bother with it, because I used it for frying a few too many times, and I think it answered back last night. Either that, or I was a lot more tired than I thought I was. Of course, there's rice. Spices are there, because my mother seriously has extreme stores of spices. No, I'm serious; she bought out stores with spices, and kept them in long term storage at home. Extreme, see?
It's not exactly torture, of course, when the pieces fall into place, and I make that old favourite, Venn Pongal. This time, I decided to be even more lazy than I normally am with this dish. I threw two cups of rice, and five cups of water into a large microwave safe dish. I microwaved it at 70% power for 15 minutes, then again at full power for 20 minutes. While that was going, I set a pot of water to boil (roughly 2 litres) and added 2 cups of yellow split peas to it.
As I said, that oil was giving me dirty looks, so I figured it'd be best to avoid that line of questioning, and tipped in a few stout teaspoons of my mother's Sambhar powder. (Google is your friend. I have a recipe in my book, but if you don't have my book, google "Sambhar powder recipe" and click around till you find one with the ingredients you have.) I also tipped in a scant teaspoon of turmeric, and a few scrapings of ginger root (fresh; powdered doesn't taste close to the same, so omit it if you don't have fresh). Of course, in went the ever present red chili flakes, and quite a lot of freshly ground black pepper. I could have added curry leaves, but I didn't feel like walking out into that rain.
I picked up my book, reclined on the couch to listen for the beep, and read avidly when the first 15 minutes were over. The water on the stove was cheerfully boiling, but the rice wasn't nearly cooked at all. In fact, at 70%, the water wasn't even boiling. I got annoyed, set the time for 20 minutes, and hit the start button. I added in the cooked rice. I replaced a bit of the water in the pot (as it was evaporating fairly fast), and put the lid on it. I dropped down the flame to medium low. Covering the lid and lowering the heat would maintain the temperature without my having to expend so much fuel. Besides, with Venn Pongal, you need the rice to be mushy in any case.
At the end of the 20 minute beep, the rice was done, and the split peas were almost done. I decided to have some toast, wash my face, do some tidying up, and get ready for dinner. The rice continued to merrily simmer away. About ten minutes later, the yellow split peas were done through (they sort of fell apart), and the rice was that proper mushy consistency. I generously salted the dish, and turned off the stove. It was still in that sloshy stage. I gave it a good strong stirring, to loosen up any bits that were stuck to the bottom of the pot, and covered the lid tightly. I relaxed with a glass of water, and knew that Steve would be coming home shortly. Just about ten minutes later, when the pongal had just set, he walked in, sniffed the air, and dug right in!
I'm surprised that it came out so well without any of the fat. Interesting ...
If, however, you don't particularly mind a bit of fat, here are some nifty and easy
There's split peas. There's oil, but I'd rather not bother with it, because I used it for frying a few too many times, and I think it answered back last night. Either that, or I was a lot more tired than I thought I was. Of course, there's rice. Spices are there, because my mother seriously has extreme stores of spices. No, I'm serious; she bought out stores with spices, and kept them in long term storage at home. Extreme, see?
It's not exactly torture, of course, when the pieces fall into place, and I make that old favourite, Venn Pongal. This time, I decided to be even more lazy than I normally am with this dish. I threw two cups of rice, and five cups of water into a large microwave safe dish. I microwaved it at 70% power for 15 minutes, then again at full power for 20 minutes. While that was going, I set a pot of water to boil (roughly 2 litres) and added 2 cups of yellow split peas to it.
As I said, that oil was giving me dirty looks, so I figured it'd be best to avoid that line of questioning, and tipped in a few stout teaspoons of my mother's Sambhar powder. (Google is your friend. I have a recipe in my book, but if you don't have my book, google "Sambhar powder recipe" and click around till you find one with the ingredients you have.) I also tipped in a scant teaspoon of turmeric, and a few scrapings of ginger root (fresh; powdered doesn't taste close to the same, so omit it if you don't have fresh). Of course, in went the ever present red chili flakes, and quite a lot of freshly ground black pepper. I could have added curry leaves, but I didn't feel like walking out into that rain.
I picked up my book, reclined on the couch to listen for the beep, and read avidly when the first 15 minutes were over. The water on the stove was cheerfully boiling, but the rice wasn't nearly cooked at all. In fact, at 70%, the water wasn't even boiling. I got annoyed, set the time for 20 minutes, and hit the start button. I added in the cooked rice. I replaced a bit of the water in the pot (as it was evaporating fairly fast), and put the lid on it. I dropped down the flame to medium low. Covering the lid and lowering the heat would maintain the temperature without my having to expend so much fuel. Besides, with Venn Pongal, you need the rice to be mushy in any case.
At the end of the 20 minute beep, the rice was done, and the split peas were almost done. I decided to have some toast, wash my face, do some tidying up, and get ready for dinner. The rice continued to merrily simmer away. About ten minutes later, the yellow split peas were done through (they sort of fell apart), and the rice was that proper mushy consistency. I generously salted the dish, and turned off the stove. It was still in that sloshy stage. I gave it a good strong stirring, to loosen up any bits that were stuck to the bottom of the pot, and covered the lid tightly. I relaxed with a glass of water, and knew that Steve would be coming home shortly. Just about ten minutes later, when the pongal had just set, he walked in, sniffed the air, and dug right in!
I'm surprised that it came out so well without any of the fat. Interesting ...
If, however, you don't particularly mind a bit of fat, here are some nifty and easy
Ideas for Jazzing Up Pongal
- Raw or caramelised onions, sprinkled on top of each diner's bowl
- Crushed toasted nuts
- A drizzle of tahini, thrown on just before serving
- Indian pickles (it's in the book, I swear)
Other than that, you really don't want to fuss around with the flavours or textures too much. Feel free to add more heat, or salt, or a kick more of spices. However, pongal is such a classic that it's hard to improve on something that's such a staple for so many people across the world.
That's right, world, not just India. I've noticed that all over the world, in the older civilisations, you had some mix of rice and lentils/beans/legums/pulses, that was cooked together, gently spiced, and eaten as a staple dish. The reason is that when you're feeding a family with such varied needs and tastes, as you did in those days when you lived with your family, you'd want to get something on the table that everyone could enjoy comfortably, from the very young to the adult to the very old. Regardless of what the culture would call it, it'd be fairly mushy, gently spiced, and cooked for a fairly long time (since the grain and the legume was cooking together). Cultures who don't quite have that art down (the younger, meat based ones) tried to emulate it, but would fall short of the whole point of the dish: it was meant to be a staple, it was meant to be cheap, and it was meant to be something that the whole family could easily enjoy.
Look at the traditional comfort foods of the American south. Macaroni and cheese. Smashed potatoes. You could certainly feed it to everyone, but it's not something you could eat every day as a staple. They're just searching for their lost bowls of pongal. It's OK, folks. There's a large pot of it waiting patiently on my stove. Come. Eat. :)
That's right, world, not just India. I've noticed that all over the world, in the older civilisations, you had some mix of rice and lentils/beans/legums/pulses, that was cooked together, gently spiced, and eaten as a staple dish. The reason is that when you're feeding a family with such varied needs and tastes, as you did in those days when you lived with your family, you'd want to get something on the table that everyone could enjoy comfortably, from the very young to the adult to the very old. Regardless of what the culture would call it, it'd be fairly mushy, gently spiced, and cooked for a fairly long time (since the grain and the legume was cooking together). Cultures who don't quite have that art down (the younger, meat based ones) tried to emulate it, but would fall short of the whole point of the dish: it was meant to be a staple, it was meant to be cheap, and it was meant to be something that the whole family could easily enjoy.
Look at the traditional comfort foods of the American south. Macaroni and cheese. Smashed potatoes. You could certainly feed it to everyone, but it's not something you could eat every day as a staple. They're just searching for their lost bowls of pongal. It's OK, folks. There's a large pot of it waiting patiently on my stove. Come. Eat. :)
28 June 2007
Inagural Post
I do have a product blog up for my book, The Alternative Vegan. However, I feel like since it's out there in the open, attached to the product itself, I can't be as chatty and silly as I want to be. If you've read the book, you know that I like to ramble on about nothing in particular, and sometimes I've got some ... unique observations about things going on in my life. I'll answer questions, if you post comments, but for the most part, this is about what's going on in my life, and other silly things of that nature. Feel free to read it, or ignore it.
As far as I know, sales are doing fine. I get people telling me about the different things that they're trying out, and I'm thrilled to bits when they try out something "exotic," if that makes sense. For example, at the last minute, I wanted to include a dish called Venn Pongal. It's a dish from the south of India, where my family is from, and it's filled with all the good things that I remember about growing up in the land of spices. It's very light in terms of fat an calories, but it's like magic. Pongal can settle an upset stomach, fill an empty belly, warm you up from the tips of your toes to the top of your head when it's dreary and rainy outside. Its smoky scent will fill the house as you cook it.
All that being said, it does take a fair bit of time for it to finish cooking, during which you're going crazy wanting it. Additionally, the instructions look complicated. Not that it's hard to make, mind you. It just looks that way, because I had to explain it just so. Anyways, I'm rambling. My publisher offered to test the recipe (because no recipe went into the book without being tested for ease of understanding the instructions, etc). He and his wife whipped up a batch, and fell in love.
Since then, they've made it a few other times. Now, my publisher is a talented and adventurous cook. He loves to tinker about with food so that it can reach the fiery heat he craves in there. (Suffice to say that chiles make regular appearances in the Torres house.) I expect him to be able to churn out pot after pot of pongal with no trouble, and no fear at all. I didn't expect people to try it after buying the book! I was surprised and so pleased that others could experience this ultimate of comfort foods for the first time, because I was introducing them to it. Something that I consider so common, but so good that I'll cheerfully eat it three times a day for a week or so. This, in all its beauty, was introduced to people, because they felt adventurous enough to give it a try.
That's so cool! What's even better is that they'll get to try the version that doesn't cost a fortune to make, and for which it is easy to find ingredients. I was telling my mother about the recipe in the book, and she asked me, "So, did you say to use moong daal?" "No," I responded, "I said to use split yellow peas." The two of us burst out laughing as she said, "I never do anything traditionally!" Of course we don't! That's how we adapt to the different places we've lived throughout my life. You can't be so rigid as to demand that everything be just so or not at all! You figure out how to make something work for you, wherever you are. Frankly, I'm not going to have someone spend three times the cost of split yellow peas on moong dal over some sniping about "authenticity" or "tradition". Sorry, but tradition is only so important that it serves us, not the other way around!
In other news, I figured out that I'm capable of getting into the door, and maximising my efficiency. Whenever you know you need to have dinner on the table in an hour or so after you get in, use this method, because it works for me without tiring me out! The second you walk in, drop whatever's in your hands onto the dining room or kitchen table, and walk into the kitchen. Quickly rinse out a pot, and start to fill it with water. While it fills, dash off to the washroom to give your hands and face a rinse with clean water and some soap. I find that if I'm using my regular facial soap to wash my face, my hands get cleaned at the same time, so I prefer to save a step if I can help it. Dry your hands off, and pat your face dry.
By now, you'll probably be feeling a lot more refreshed. The reason I added in the face and hand washing thing is twofold. For one thing, before you start preparing food, you HAVE to wash your hands. It's not pleasant to find unwelcome visitors in your food, and be laid up in bed with a stomach infection. Keep those hands as clean as you can. The other reason is that I live in Florida, and it's HOT. The first thing I wanted to do was wash my face as soon as I got in, but I knew that my kitchen sink can take a long time to fill a pot. I also fought the temptation to wash my face in the kitchen sink, because that would have involved the dirty water from my face flying around the kitchen. Ew.
Now that you're feeling more human, go to the kitchen again, and pour off any excess water from your pot. You're going to want 6 litres or so of water in the pot. Set the pot on the stove, slam on the lid, and crank it up to as high as it goes. The reason we are boiling water is because hot boiling water is perfect for cooking anything from rice to pasta to noodles to potatoes to vegetables. It's a pain, however, to wait for it to boil. Rather, why not let it do its own thing, while you go about your business? Once that's going, you can get to the rest of your meal.
Grab a clove of garlic, and smash it open, by pounding something heavy on it. Leave it whole; this is lazy, quick food, remember? Chop up an onion. Open up a can of black olives. Set a skillet onto your stove. Pour in any type of oil. See, when I came home that day, I didn't feel like digging out the olive oil. I just grabbed the canola bottle. Pour in enough oil to coat the bottom of the skillet. Quickly drain your can of olives, and pour them into the oil. Let the temperature come up, while you slice up your clove of garlic.
Within a couple of minutes, you should hear the olives in the skillet sizzling away like crazy. This is a good thing. You probably also smell an olive smell in the air. This is even better. Toss the olives around in your skillet. Sprinkle in the garlic and onions, and follow it up with a few good pinches of salt.
When you add salt this early in the game, you let the onions and garlic leak out their water more quickly, and the flavour intensifies. Find a can of tomatoes, or do what I did and find a jar of prepared tomato sauce. Nobody has to know! I have yet to see a jar of tomato sauce that had whole black olives (in this amount, anyway), and pieces of onions and garlic that you can actually see. When the onions turn light brown, pour in a few cups of the tomato sauce (or a 12 - 16 oz can of diced tomatoes, juice and all). Turn down the heat to low, and let the sauce simmer away until the pasta's done.
Now that your sauce is on the stove, your water is probably boiling. Splendid. Grab a 1 lb box of pasta, and pitch it into the pot of merrily boiling water. Generously salt the water. Throw in the juice of a lemon into the water (prevents pasta from sticking). Put the lid back onto the pot, ONLY for as long as it takes to get the water back up to a full rolling boil. Remove the lid, and set it aside. Boil the pasta until it's done.
Pour yourself a glass of wine or juice or water or whatever it is you like to drink at the end of your day, and sit down for at least five minutes, while the pasta boils. Don't leave the kitchen; you don't want to leave things on the stove unattended. You do, however, need the break for yourself at this point, because your legs are probably reminding you about the sweet allure of a hot bath. With bubbles!
When you've had your five minutes of relaxation, put a colander into the sink. Start checking on the pasta to see if it's cooked. Keep checking it every minute or two, until it's just done. When the pasta is done, pour it out to drain into the colander. Turn off the stove, and put the empty pot back onto the still hot stove. Pour the sauce into the bottom of the pot. Pour some of the cooked pasta into the sauce pan, and swirl it around to catch any leftover bits of sauce still in the pan. Dump all the pasta (including the one from the pan) over the sauce in the pot, and stir it all around to combine it.
Everything will be done to a turn, and you only need dump together a salad (which takes no time flat) and throw out some crusty bread and olive oil. That was more or less how my Monday night went. Ah, life is so simple when we've got so much.
As far as I know, sales are doing fine. I get people telling me about the different things that they're trying out, and I'm thrilled to bits when they try out something "exotic," if that makes sense. For example, at the last minute, I wanted to include a dish called Venn Pongal. It's a dish from the south of India, where my family is from, and it's filled with all the good things that I remember about growing up in the land of spices. It's very light in terms of fat an calories, but it's like magic. Pongal can settle an upset stomach, fill an empty belly, warm you up from the tips of your toes to the top of your head when it's dreary and rainy outside. Its smoky scent will fill the house as you cook it.
All that being said, it does take a fair bit of time for it to finish cooking, during which you're going crazy wanting it. Additionally, the instructions look complicated. Not that it's hard to make, mind you. It just looks that way, because I had to explain it just so. Anyways, I'm rambling. My publisher offered to test the recipe (because no recipe went into the book without being tested for ease of understanding the instructions, etc). He and his wife whipped up a batch, and fell in love.
Since then, they've made it a few other times. Now, my publisher is a talented and adventurous cook. He loves to tinker about with food so that it can reach the fiery heat he craves in there. (Suffice to say that chiles make regular appearances in the Torres house.) I expect him to be able to churn out pot after pot of pongal with no trouble, and no fear at all. I didn't expect people to try it after buying the book! I was surprised and so pleased that others could experience this ultimate of comfort foods for the first time, because I was introducing them to it. Something that I consider so common, but so good that I'll cheerfully eat it three times a day for a week or so. This, in all its beauty, was introduced to people, because they felt adventurous enough to give it a try.
That's so cool! What's even better is that they'll get to try the version that doesn't cost a fortune to make, and for which it is easy to find ingredients. I was telling my mother about the recipe in the book, and she asked me, "So, did you say to use moong daal?" "No," I responded, "I said to use split yellow peas." The two of us burst out laughing as she said, "I never do anything traditionally!" Of course we don't! That's how we adapt to the different places we've lived throughout my life. You can't be so rigid as to demand that everything be just so or not at all! You figure out how to make something work for you, wherever you are. Frankly, I'm not going to have someone spend three times the cost of split yellow peas on moong dal over some sniping about "authenticity" or "tradition". Sorry, but tradition is only so important that it serves us, not the other way around!
In other news, I figured out that I'm capable of getting into the door, and maximising my efficiency. Whenever you know you need to have dinner on the table in an hour or so after you get in, use this method, because it works for me without tiring me out! The second you walk in, drop whatever's in your hands onto the dining room or kitchen table, and walk into the kitchen. Quickly rinse out a pot, and start to fill it with water. While it fills, dash off to the washroom to give your hands and face a rinse with clean water and some soap. I find that if I'm using my regular facial soap to wash my face, my hands get cleaned at the same time, so I prefer to save a step if I can help it. Dry your hands off, and pat your face dry.
By now, you'll probably be feeling a lot more refreshed. The reason I added in the face and hand washing thing is twofold. For one thing, before you start preparing food, you HAVE to wash your hands. It's not pleasant to find unwelcome visitors in your food, and be laid up in bed with a stomach infection. Keep those hands as clean as you can. The other reason is that I live in Florida, and it's HOT. The first thing I wanted to do was wash my face as soon as I got in, but I knew that my kitchen sink can take a long time to fill a pot. I also fought the temptation to wash my face in the kitchen sink, because that would have involved the dirty water from my face flying around the kitchen. Ew.
Now that you're feeling more human, go to the kitchen again, and pour off any excess water from your pot. You're going to want 6 litres or so of water in the pot. Set the pot on the stove, slam on the lid, and crank it up to as high as it goes. The reason we are boiling water is because hot boiling water is perfect for cooking anything from rice to pasta to noodles to potatoes to vegetables. It's a pain, however, to wait for it to boil. Rather, why not let it do its own thing, while you go about your business? Once that's going, you can get to the rest of your meal.
Grab a clove of garlic, and smash it open, by pounding something heavy on it. Leave it whole; this is lazy, quick food, remember? Chop up an onion. Open up a can of black olives. Set a skillet onto your stove. Pour in any type of oil. See, when I came home that day, I didn't feel like digging out the olive oil. I just grabbed the canola bottle. Pour in enough oil to coat the bottom of the skillet. Quickly drain your can of olives, and pour them into the oil. Let the temperature come up, while you slice up your clove of garlic.
Within a couple of minutes, you should hear the olives in the skillet sizzling away like crazy. This is a good thing. You probably also smell an olive smell in the air. This is even better. Toss the olives around in your skillet. Sprinkle in the garlic and onions, and follow it up with a few good pinches of salt.
When you add salt this early in the game, you let the onions and garlic leak out their water more quickly, and the flavour intensifies. Find a can of tomatoes, or do what I did and find a jar of prepared tomato sauce. Nobody has to know! I have yet to see a jar of tomato sauce that had whole black olives (in this amount, anyway), and pieces of onions and garlic that you can actually see. When the onions turn light brown, pour in a few cups of the tomato sauce (or a 12 - 16 oz can of diced tomatoes, juice and all). Turn down the heat to low, and let the sauce simmer away until the pasta's done.
Now that your sauce is on the stove, your water is probably boiling. Splendid. Grab a 1 lb box of pasta, and pitch it into the pot of merrily boiling water. Generously salt the water. Throw in the juice of a lemon into the water (prevents pasta from sticking). Put the lid back onto the pot, ONLY for as long as it takes to get the water back up to a full rolling boil. Remove the lid, and set it aside. Boil the pasta until it's done.
Pour yourself a glass of wine or juice or water or whatever it is you like to drink at the end of your day, and sit down for at least five minutes, while the pasta boils. Don't leave the kitchen; you don't want to leave things on the stove unattended. You do, however, need the break for yourself at this point, because your legs are probably reminding you about the sweet allure of a hot bath. With bubbles!
When you've had your five minutes of relaxation, put a colander into the sink. Start checking on the pasta to see if it's cooked. Keep checking it every minute or two, until it's just done. When the pasta is done, pour it out to drain into the colander. Turn off the stove, and put the empty pot back onto the still hot stove. Pour the sauce into the bottom of the pot. Pour some of the cooked pasta into the sauce pan, and swirl it around to catch any leftover bits of sauce still in the pan. Dump all the pasta (including the one from the pan) over the sauce in the pot, and stir it all around to combine it.
Everything will be done to a turn, and you only need dump together a salad (which takes no time flat) and throw out some crusty bread and olive oil. That was more or less how my Monday night went. Ah, life is so simple when we've got so much.
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