I love food. Furthermore, I love people who love food.
There are two kinds of people I don't trust:people who don't love food and people suffering from the disease OCD. I'm certain that both kinds of people are hiding something very sinister.

You might pretend that you love food, and you don't; I'll know. Do you wanna go get something to eat? People who love food don't need a rumbling tummy as an excuse to sit in a cafe, and the answer is always yes, yes, marvelous idea my best friend yes.

OCD people are easy to spot- they have a sterile apartment, they wring their hands a lot, and they paint their sneakers with white shoe polish. White sneakers are a dead give away for OCD people. White sneakers after 7 means you've got a big problem and it's the very strongest woman repellent I know of.

Last night after having a couple of drinks with the guys, I cut out early to indulge in Wednesday Linguine Night at Peter's house.

Peter warned me that he was not a neat-freak gay, and that I should be forewarned before entering his house that it exists in a state of perpetual disaster. That put me at ease right away. Messy people mean they don't have shit to hide; they are completely honest and comfortable.** They invited you over so you can learn all about them and their most favorite stuff...and it's everywhere.
Ceramic Elvis busts, live parakeets in the corners, a monster fish tank in every room, one very red velvet couch pushed against lime green walls, pictures of people now dead on the refrigerator, crucifix on the wall, silverware imprinted with the Buddha. But the food...

Clam Sauce
3 tbsp. dried basil grown in Peter's garden and dried in the sun on his front porch
10 leaves fresh basil picked from the basil bush in Peter's garden just minutes ago
1 stalk of celery chopped paper thin to disguise it as this dish's 'secret' ingredient
2 jalepenos with hearty kick a plenty
1 shallot sweet
2 cloves garlic lifted and sweaty from the heat
2 tbsp olive oil pressed and hardly noticed
1 can clam juice and clams giving identity and name to it all
12 fresh clams in shell-screaming decadence.
(optional 1/2 tsp fennel seed, and grated Parmesan sprinkles to top)

all over simple bed of pasta.

and on the side, together peter and I made pesto in the cuisinart:
2 fists of fresh basil from Peter's garden
1/4 cup pine nuts all fleshy and pinched at the ends
1/4 cup olive oil to make creamy and delicate
1 tbsp fresh squeezed tart juicy lemon, the bursty meat digging into your fingernails
salt to taste to bring everything to attention.

all served in a dainty porcelain teacup with tiny toast to dip on the side.

And Cabernet sauvignon Blanc in giant bulbed wine glasses.

And we talked about our mothers- which basically amounts to wild audience applause at the end. Peter sat on the floor glowing, and smoking, and a satisfied saint indeed.

**Not that messy people are always good people. I once took a little tour of a real life crackhouse, and they were not pretty people at all. Brillo pads pulled to pieces everywhere (like the plastic straw in easter baskets or tinsel on christmas trees that turn up everywhere) white chips of plaster mashed into the carpet, and a mattress in the living room. Drug houses I've discovered, always have a standard sized mattress resting up against the wall in the living room.