Dinner and a Record

I believe in a certain mentality in the kitchen, and part of that
truly happens when good music—which is directly correlated to a better
attitude, hence leading to better food—is a part of the process. I
also believe in listening to entire albums as a compilation while in
the kitchen. On vinyl. A record is a complete work. Like a meal. There
are different elements you hear, or taste, at the same time, that when
enjoyed from start to finish leads to a sort of gastronomic/musical
fullness that rarely accompanies a one bite treat or a one hit wonder.
And come on, there is nothing like dancing around your kitchen in one
of those silly little Anthropologie aprons belting (or humming,
depending on the day, the mood, the music…) into your wooden spoon.
The necessary pause—tap your feet and bop your head ever so
slightly—to stir, stir, stir. Then back to the mic as you
simultaneously taste your sauce and pick up at the chorus:

Is it wicked not to care/when you've wasted many hours talking/
endlessly to anyone that's there...

Adjust for seasonings; flip the record.

The menu last night was coastal Italian-inspired, and I dedicate
the record—Belle & Sebastian's The Boy with the Arab Strap—to the lightness of angel hair pasta, the zing of the caper, the panache of a plum tomato sauce, all silky and shiny from quality extra-virgin olive oil, the sharpness of the Pecorino Romano and the forever upbeat Kalamata olive.