When I was in high school I waited tables at a great little modern Italian joint named Campiello.

Juggling football, marching band, symphony, my garage band, DECA/BPA, and every other thing going on didn’t leave a lot of time for light salads, but Campiello had a namesake salad that was as hearty as it was delicious.

Today’s edition was kept the key components in place: As much red wine vinegar as you can take, sicilian olive oil, Boston lettuce, red onion, sheep’s milk feta, and tons of fresh tomato and kalamata olives…

But I left out the hard-boiled egg and cucumber, slipping in rough-chopped organic zucchini and haas avocado instead. The zucchini was a great tweak and a trick I am going to use in the future if I’m hungry. (When am I not?)

Finish the sucker with a liberal dose of cracked pepper, crack a Diet Coke, and have at it.

So there I am.  Cranberry sauce?  Check.  Pecan pie?  Check.  Green beans?  Tipped, tailed, and ready to go.  Turkey?  Brining–done and done.  Last step before setting the Thanksgiving meal in motion?  That’s right, my favorite: Sausage and sage stuffing.  As everyone knows, sausage and sage are the Batman and Robin of Stuffing Gotham—who am I to deny the dynamic duo?

The only thing out of the ordinary was that the night before, I couldn’t find any fresh, delicious sourdough bread (my stuffing grain of choice).  Fortunately, Whole Foods was there for me with a culinary bailout.  The kind souls in the bakery were featuring a bag of stuffing bread, which was little more than a simple sack of bread scraps from perhaps 10 different types of bread…cubed, bagged, and ready to rock.  Perfect, methinks, and I pick it up.

Fast forward to prep time, and I have onions and celery sweating, sausage browning, organic chicken stock warm and eager, and then–and I encourage you to envision this part in slow motion–I open the bag of cubed bread.  BOOM!  The kitchen explodes with the rank (if sweet) smell of cinnamon raisin!  ”How is this possible?!” I shriek, pouring through the plastic bag to confirm my worst nightmare.  Dogs are barking.  Children are crying.  Indeed.  Those raging Visigoths over at the Whole Foods bakery have done the unthinkable: they had included Cinnamon-Raisin bread in their stuffing bread mix.

For shame, little granules of cinnamon and sugar had since penetrated throughout the bag, unbeknownst to those reviewing it from without.  There was no salvaging the good pieces, and I had no other bread to use at this late hour.  Clearly, the debate settled on whether the mighty, meaty flavors of the stuffing would stomp all over the silly cinnamon flavors in, what, 1 out of every 10 cubes of bread?!

I pinched my nose, crossed fingers, and poured in the bread, careful not to let sugar-laden crumbs from the bottom into the mix.  Tears replaced any lasting need for kosher salt.

Many hours later, the turkey came out magnificently.  The vegetables were crisp and delicious.  The potatoes, the pies, the cheeses, gougeres…everything a red-blooded Thanksgiving-goer could ask for was in place and tasty.  But the stuffing, my dear friends…Yes, the stuffing, my online sympathizers, was for naught.  Only the sinewy flavor muscles of a strong gravy would weigh down the disappointment and outrage that was this year’s stuffing.

And like Tom Brady after a perfect season and a Super Bowl loss…I licked my wounds, and turned the page.  Next year, Thanksgiving, next year.

[gazing into the horizon, silently shaking fists in tortured isolation]

How about that pairing?

Last night was my third time to Mario Batali’s flagship Babbo, and words cannot express how delicious his pasta is.  I insist on the pasta tasting menu paired with his reserve wines, and each course is so perfect, it makes me want to give up on cooking forever.

Imagine watching Led Zeppelin in LA circa 1972.  Bonzo is absolutely wrecking another drum kit with his tree-trunk grade drumsticks, Page has sold his soul to the devil and plays like it with the devil’s own violin bow.  Plant lets out a high-pitched howl like an air raid siren in London during the war, and you just know something’s going on that is bigger than all of us.  That’s what it is like eating Mario Batali’s pasta.

But there is something else about the evening.  Perhaps it was the Run DMC playing when my Tagliatelle al Nero came out (paired with such a unique Gavi).  I don’t know if it was the White Stripes playing when my Garganelli Funghi Trifolati came out (paired with a gorgeous Baralo).  Maybe it was the AC/DC playing when my Pappardelle Bolognese came out (make no mistake–Batali’s Bolognese is the Sistine Chapel of pasta.  The world stops for his Bolognese.).

The point is, while all this amazing pasta is happening on the table, while all this beautiful wine is happening, the place is abuzz with casual, fun energy.  The music is not only unpretentious, it rocks!  You feel like Mario just plugged in his iPod and threw together the most gorgeous dinner party ever.

So here’s to a beautiful bowl of pasta, and here’s to pairing it with Italy’s finest grape juice.  And what’s more, here’s to rocking out while you do it.  A tip of my hat, Mario.  You’re doing great work.