When the Sky Makes You Drool Just Like Pasta Fazul, that's Amore

Plane trip!  We’re on our way to New Mexico for the third leg of our Wedding That Won’t Die.  Five days of parties, bonding with members of my new family, getting up ass early to watch 400 hot air balloons rise into the air, AND going up in a balloon myself.  Just me, my darling husband and someone whose name is probably something like “Fuzzy”.  Romantical.

Doyle and I get to the airport, check our bags and while getting ready to head over to our TSA groping session, my husband hands me my boarding pass.  I glance over it, and immediately I can feel my ass start to clench.

See, when I married my husband those 8 long weeks ago, I decided to change my name.  The reasons were simple.  Robertson sounds a hell of a lot better than Fasulo.  Robertson means “Son of Robert” while Fasulo means “Slang for Fazul, which is Italian for ‘Bean’”.  Jenny Bean.  You see why I took his name?  But it was the realization that I’d NEVER AGAIN need to spell my name to people over the phone that had me running down the aisle. 

“So, your last name is Falluso, Miss?”

“No, ma’am.  Let’s try this again.  It’s F as in Frank, A, S as in…”

I know what you’re thinking.  Would I have married him had his last name been Lipshits?  And the answer is Yes.  But I would have changed my name to something else.  Waylong, perhaps.  Or Jeeter.  And, I would have encouraged him to do the same.

Plus, my husband’s parents were so touched that I was changing my name to their family name that they cried tears of joy when I told them.  TEARS. OF. JOY.  Probably because before this, they were sure that I was a potty-mouthed feminist yankee of the highest order and would have had Doyle change his last AND first name to mine, if I had my way.

But, I digress.  Back to the ass-clenching. 

My ass was out of joint because I was looking at my boarding pass and realized that my husband booked my airline ticket using my MAIDEN NAME. 

You know, the last name that hasn’t been mine for eight weeks?  You know, the last name NOT on my new drivers license, which Mr. “friendly hands” TSA will use to confirm the name on my ticket which WILL NOT MATCH.

“Don’t panic,” says my husband.  So of course I begin to panic.

Side note by the Justice League:

My husband and I are dangerous together, because we both have the tendency to forget things.  Things like purses, backpacks, passports, concert tickets, airline tickets, any and all paper tickets, really.  And the truth is, I’m just as big a culprit as he is.  Who lost our passports TWICE in Norway within 24 hours (but recovered them both times)?  Me.  Who has left her laptop behind on more than airplane/airport (but somehow managed to recover it every time)?  Me.  So, I get it, we both fuck up, we know it, and we love each other anyway.

But oh my god!  I will have to miss this flight and probably rebook another one at an additional cost.  Plus I’ll have to pay for a cab home, burrow around for an old ID with my maiden name on it (because the airline will not reissue the ticket in my new name), pay for a cab back to the airport, AND my in-laws will wind up thinking I’m a callous, flaky idiot yankee!  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!

So NATURALLY I started to panic because what sane person wouldn’t? 

The answer is My Husband.  Mr. Cool.  Mr. Collected.  Mr. I-am-the-luckiest-motherfucker-alive, who strolls right up to Mr. TSA and has a brief man-to-man (all I heard through my panicky ringing ears was “blurbity blurb blurb”), which leads to me producing my bank card, the old one with my maiden name and my picture on it, and then the next thing I know my husband and I are walking free and easy into the terminal.  That was it.  They just let us through.

Which leads to this question:  What the hell kind of security personnel just LET PEOPLE THROUGH when they don’t have the right ID?  That’s like letting people through with nail clippers, knitting needles and other dangerous items, right?  RIGHT?

Maybe I just better shut up and say thank you.

In honor of my former last name, I give you Fazul’s most famous recipe.  Dean Martin even sang about it once (See the title, above.  Then Google it if you still don’t get it.)

Pasta Fazul

SOAK THE BEANS

Soak the 2 cups of beans overnight in 8 cups of water.  

COOK THE BEANS

2 cups of dried borlotti beans, soaked overnight, strained and rinsed

1 onion, peeled

5 cloves of garlic, peeled

2 bay leaves

6 cups of water

2 Tbsps olive oil

(As per Exploding, Face Melting Black Bean Soup, you have many options for how to cook your beans)

Cooking Beans by Pressure Cooker

Put everything into a pressure cooker, fasten the lid, and cook on high until the steam begins to hiss angrily.  Once this happens, set the timer for 10 minutes, and then turn the flame down to about medium/medium low (whatever maintains the angry hiss but doesn’t cause panic-inducing noises to emerge).  When the timer dings, turn off the heat because those beans are done.  Wait until the pressure dissipates, about 15 minutes or so, before removing the lid, or the steamy beans might kill you or your cat.

Note: Please use a large enough cooker to handle all these beans, and please do not explode anything.  I will not be held responsible for your melted face.  Please use the pressure cooker according to its instructions.

Cooking Beans by Stovetop

Put everything into a large pot, put a lid on it, bring it up to a boil, then turn it down to simmer for about an hour to an hour and a half.  Beans are done when they don’t break your teeth.  Add more water if necessary.

Cooking Beans by Goya, etc.

You can give your hand a workout and just crank open 3 cans of borlotti beans or break out the crock pot.  Whatever gives you joy.  If you use canned beans, add two chopped onions to the garlic when you cook the rest of the soup.

PUREE THE BEANS (OPTIONAL)

If you want a velvety soup, take half the beans and puree them in a blender.  If you want more of a stew, omit this step.

COOK THE REST

1 Tbsp olive oil

1 clove of garlic, grated

2 leafy sprigs of rosemary (wrapped in cheesecloth, if        you like)

1 cup of water

2 Tbsp tomato paste

½ to 1 tsp red pepper flakes (how spicy you like it?)

1 tsp of salt

1 parmesan cheese rind (if you happen to have one laying around.  If not, omit.)

1 cup of dried ditalini pasta or other small pasta tubes

Salt and pepper, to taste

Grated Parmesan cheese (optional for those of you who hate life)

Olive oil (optional-even for normal people)

Chopped parsley (optional)

Put the olive oil and the garlic into a large pot and cook on medium heat till garlic starts to fizzle.  Then add the beans and their cooking water, the rosemary, the cup of water, the tomato paste, the pepper flakes, the salt, the cheese rind and the dried pasta and bring to a boil.  Turn the heat down and simmer for about 6 – 10 more minutes, until the pasta is done and the soup has thickened. 

Before serving, discard the rosemary, the bay leaves and the cheese rind (if any remains) and check for seasoning.  If you’re serving this to people you like, give them a little lovin’ by topping their bowlfuls with a bit chopped parsley, a drizzle of olive oil and some parmesan cheese.  They’ll thank you.