I guess there can't always be a happy ending.

So, today I finally got around to making something from the tomatoes that Sarah brought over last week. The tomatoes were at perfect ripeness, almost bursting from their skins. I decided that a marinara sauce would be simple and make a good supper. I took care to blanche them in boiling water to remove their skins and gently squeeze out the gooey seeds. Though I was out of onions I had plenty of garlic so I chopped five cloves. Along with the garlic I sauteed a finely diced red pepper in olive oil until soft and fragrant. Then I added the fresh, chopped tomatoes. After a quick simmer, I pureed the batch and returned it to the pan with some salt, sugar and a myriad of spices: bay, oregano, basil, fennel and thyme. Maybe it was overkill on the spices but our apartment smelled terrific. At that moment I discovered we were out of pasta and went to Persimmon to pick up something to serve with my sauce. Besides, Sarah was working and I wanted to say hello. I sort of asked Mark to watch the sauce. I should have known better, because he never cooks and probably doesn't even know what "watch the sauce" means. Bless his heart.
Two steps from our apartment door I knew something was wrong. The smell was potent but...not quite right. I rushed to the stove but it was too late. Horribly late. My sauce was nothing but a charred mess. I ran from the apartment in disappointment, frustration, into the park across from our building. The smell followed me. From the third floor, our window air conditioner pumped out the savory, humiliating smell of burnt marinara sauce throughout the entire park.

We ended up with plain boiled gnocchi for dinner and a good laugh for the rest of the evening.