Falling For Fettucini

Okay, we have a new favorite fall recipe at Farm Suite. Technically I'm the only one who really likes it, but, as with dark chocolate, it's okay to stand alone in liking this dish. All alone. No one else wants to eat it. Are you getting the idea that I could eat it all by myself?

If you drop by for a visit, I will offer you some, and if you like it, maybe I'll be glad to share.

Here's the recipe. I have to say thanks to Barb, who coined the term "concept cook." I, too, am a "concept" cook. I just didn't know what it was called before. (So if you're looking for a strict recipe, I'm not your blogger.)

But, manoman, this is good:

Fall Farm Fettucine

First you need the last of your homegrown tomatoes, three of four of them, diced into half-inch pieces. If necessary, buy some tomatoes at the farmer's market or "on the vine" at the grocery store. It will not be the same as picking them steps from the kitchen door, but it will not ruin the yumminess factor.

Second you want about a quarter to half pound of crumbled feta cheese. You can make it yourself with goat milk you bought from a neighbor, but this takes days and days to become chevre and another month to grow the feta culture. So I suggest buying this unless you're super-committed to trying the Fall Farm Fettucine without actually coming to visit me (this is an option, unless you're an internet crazy who leaves links to environs unknown in my comment section).

Two cups or so of baby spinach. We are still growing spinach even though we've had a light frost, and probably will until after Thanksgiving or whenever the deer get desperate again.

Garlic, fresh basil leaves, and olive oil, processed in the blender or food processor until it looks more or less like a half cup of pesto.

A large package of store-bought fettucine noodles. I used to have a beautiful hand-roly noodle press but I used it for a clay project at preschool and it got misborrowed. Man, I miss that thing.

A jar of good black olives. Not the mushy ones. Rough-chop.

So:

Boil the noodles until al dente. Drain and toss with all the other ingredients. The hot noodles will wilt the spinach and steam the tomatoes a little. It will look unbelievably colorful. You may eat the entire thing by yourself. Unless you're visiting me.

A little wine, a little crusty french bread dredged in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Oh my goodness. Is the dinner bell ringing yet?