Valente’s Porcini Pasta

The Porcini Torchio was one of the first pasta dishes we added to the menu at Valente’s Cucina. At first, it did not sell at all. We decided to run through our supply of it and take it off the menu. Naturally, it began selling like crazy that very night and remained a fixture on …

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Porcini Pappardelle Pasta

This variation on the pasta dough will be more luxurious and golden-colored than the original porcini torchio pasta made at Valente’s because of the egg yolks. Feel free to substitute the yolks for water if you’d prefer. Make this twist on the extruded Torchio pasta from Valente's Cucina

Sheldon

The door is a wall

Being a creature of habit, the dog can’t understand why I won’t let him out through the door that is now a solid wall.

Superposition

Behind closed doors In a place unobserved It ceased to exist In private and public Posture speaks volumes On demeanor In altered states of uncertainty I can’t help but Affect behavior With safety unleashed Preceding the parallel and distinct The universe splits again And again To solve a problem But matter, what does it matter? …

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Hand to Mouth

By the crowded garage Adjacent a strip of stores The puddle put out a cigarette I was without a jacket Or hooded sweatshirt In the dense rain, under grey skies You insisted we had pure bliss Does that ring true in this abyss? Does this really seem like How we should persist? Running blindly with …

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Fabled

It might demean family To deify friends But you’re a staunch defender Of fabled criticisms Nothing you make is ever Good enough for them On the path of self construction There’s too many bridges traveled On unheeded words And as the road behind sears to ash The road ahead begins to narrow I can’t tell …

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Threshold|Tolerance

The taste of blood is in the back of my mouth This is a metaphor for nothing It’s dry and salty – Sanguine, like you might think It happens all the time I just swallow it down Because I can’t live without it Damned if you do, damned it you don’t My gut cramps It’s …

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Plateau and Falter

Typing his story at his desk chair A voice reminds him from the living room To clean up his big mess But he’s caught between being Overly analytic and oblivious In these halcyon nights He hears words but can’t hear her Can’t focus on finding the subtext Sitting crossed-leg on the couch She knows he’s …

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