Euro-Jongg

I've been brainstorming over a westernized version of Mah-Jongg, using poker-style playing cards rather than tiles with characters and symbols that most Europeans and Americans might find obscure and hard to tell apart. Here is what I have come up with so far. It will require some specialized cards, however. I would be interested in hearing from anyone able and willing to design them!

The cards: First, there are four sets of Aces through 9's in all four traditional suits. This is to say, there are four sets of spades from Ace to 9, four sets of clubs ditto, four sets of hearts, four sets of diamonds. This actually expands on Mah Jongg's three numerical suits (dots, craks, and bams); but I figure, western card players are already familiar with 4 suits, so why not use them?

Then there is one set of cards, from Ace to 9, in a fifth suit. I'm thinking "crowns." Nice, gold-colored crowns, with three points across the top. Neither red nor black, but easy to recognize and in keeping with the theme of royalty that one finds in the face cards. And because the face cards are royalty, there is no need for face cards in the suit of crowns. They're not really valuable cards anyway. You'll see why later.

Next, each traditional suit will have one of each of the following face cards. Of course there will be Kings, Queens, and Jacks. But there will also be 4 Bishops, 4 Fools, 4 Horses, and 4 Wenches - one of each in diamonds, hearts, clubs, and spades. Whoever designs these should make sure to include a B, F, H, or W in the corners, just like the K, Q, and J of the other face-cards. Keep the distracting detail to the minimum; all one needs is a stylized image that can be instantly distinguished from the other denominations.

If, by the way, there is a consensus that "fools" and "wenches" are too politically incorrect, one could substitute something less offensive, like "dogs" or "cannons," etc. I like the medieval touch, though. It makes me feel like I'm fabricating a venerable tradition. The purpose of these 7 face-card denominations, if you must know, is to replace Mah-Jongg's 4 winds and 3 dragons with images the western card-player will readily understand. At least, I hope he will.

Finally, there are 12 non-suit "bonus cards" - 4 flowers, 4 birds, and 4 trees. I am suggesting that we go with varieties of the above that we dumb-ass westerners can immediately identify, even in a stylized form. I suggest letting the flowers be rose, tulip, lily, and daisy. Let the birds be crane, swan, eagle, and owl. And let the trees be oak, pine, birch, and apple. These will stand in for the flower (and season, etc.) tiles in original Mah-Jongg.

Then, to create another axis of association (so that each flower can be grouped with a particular tree and bird), I would suggest including a suit symbol on the edge of each card. Thus, for example, the rose, crane, and apple could all be associated with clubs; the tulip, eagle, and oak a with hearts; the daisy, swan, and birch with diamonds; and the owl, lily, and pine with spades.

I believe that adds up to 193 cards. The 4 sets of A-9 in the 4 traditional suits add up to 144; the 1-9 of crowns makes 153; the 12 bonus cards make 165; and the 28 face cards make 193. Which is exactly the number of cards we need!

Dealing: This, then, is how they get dealt. Each of the four players does his part to shuffle the cards, cutting and passing portions of the deck as needed. The "dealer" then deals 13 cards to each player, plus a fifth "blind" hand of 13 cards. The remaining cards are dealt into 8 face-down stacks of 16 cards each; or, space permitting, 16 stacks of 8. These "stock piles" are arranged in a C-shaped "wall" around the center of the table, with the "blind" pile face-down at the "back" end of the wall. I would recommend arranging the blind at a right angle to the stock piles, so that it can be easily distinguished. Discards will be piled face-up at the "front" end of the wall, opposite the blind.

Playing: Each player's turn begins with drawing one card, either from the top of the pile remaining nearest the "front" end of the wall, or (in special circumstances) from the top of the waste pile.

If the player finds a crown card in his hand, or draws it from the pile, he may lay it down in front of him and draw a replacement card from the "back" end of the wall. It is not necessary to form "books" of crown cards. They have no scoring value. Their purpose is to furnish players with an excuse to draw from the back of the wall. Bonuses may be awarded for playing certain combinations of crown cards (evens, odds, 1 and 9, etc.). I leave that in the creative hands of whoever essays to play the game.

Likewise, the flower, bird, and tree cards can be laid down and replaced from the back of the wall. Obviously these "bonus cards" are also worth bonus points, unlike the crowns. If this was Mah-Jongg, it would probably be the type of "multiplication bonus" where you need a table of powers-of-2 to figure out your score. I suggest making each bonus card, by itself, worth a nice sober figure like 10 points. But if you get 2 associated with the same suit, it becomes 100; all 3 of the same suit are worth 1,000. Likewise, 2 bonus cards of the same type (flower, bird, or tree) are worth 100; 3 are worth 1,000; and all 4 give you the "maximum score" of 10,000 points for your hand. Other special-scoring combinations I leave to the discretion of the players.

The remaining cards - those with the traditional poker suits of hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades - are played as in a specialized form of Rummy. The object is to "go out" with a combination of 14 cards, including the last card drawn, consisting of 4 "runs" or "books" of 3 cards each and one "pair"; or perhaps some other special winning hand, as the players may agree among themselves.

Acceptable "books" and "pairs" may contain: (1) A-9 cards of the same suit and denomination; or (2) face cards of the same denomination, regardless of suit. A "run" consists of of any 3 sequential cards of the same suit in the ascending order A...9-F-W-H-B-J-Q-K. There's a sop to feminists: the wench ranks above the fool. And to animal-rights activists: the horse ranks above both!

If the player happens to draw a fourth card to go with any book, he has a "tome." However, in order to be able to complete the books and pairs necessary to go out, in addition to holding his tome, the player must draw an extra card from the back of the wall. Thus a player may go out with more than 14 cards.

No matter whose turn it would ordinarily be, if any other player discards a card you need to complete a run, book, or tome, or to win, you can pre-empt the next player's turn and claim the discard for yourself. You must declare "Run!" or "Book!" or "Tome!" or "I win!" when you do so. If more than one player claims the same discard, it is awarded to the one with the highest claim, in the descending order of Win-Tome-Book-Run. Multiple claims to the same discard based on a run are decided in favor of the run containing the highest denomination. Multiple claims based on the same run are prioritized in order of play beginning with the dealer. After picking up a discard, you continue as if it was your regular turn; then play passes on to the player after you in order of play. So it is possible, and even likely, that some players will miss turns.

Runs, books, and tomes that include a card drawn from the waste pile must be laid down for the other players to see. These are "open" sets. "Closed" sets of cards arise entirely from cards dealt at the beginning of the hand and/or drawn from the wall. Because tomes require you to draw an extra card from the back of the wall, you should probably lay them down too; but turn the top card face down to indicate that it is a "closed" tome. Closed runs, books and tomes will be worth more points, come scoring time, than the open ones.

The hand ends either when someone "goes out," or when a "no-winner" is declared. A no-winner takes place when all cards have been drawn from the wall, leaving only the "blind" or "dead hand," which is never to be played. The players may agree on other circumstances requiring a "no-win" situation, such as all 4 players discarding the same face card, 4 tomes being declared, 3 players needing the same card to win, etc.

Once a hand ends, everyone's score is counted and recorded. If the dealer goes out or there is no winner, he continues to deal for the next hand. If anyone else wins, the next player in order of play becomes the dealer. The game lasts as many hands as necessary, until each player has "lost the deal" once (or an agreed-upon number of times). Each time all four players lose the deal can be designated as a round.

Scoring: The basic score is 10 points for going out, 10 points for each open book, 20 points for each closed book or open tome, 50 points for each closed tome, plus the scoring previously described for the bonus cards. Books and tomes composed entirely of face cards score double; a pair or run of face cards scores 5 points. Other bonuses can be worked out before game play begins, by consensus of the players. These could include varying numbers of bonus points for: a hand made up entirely of runs and a pair; all Aces and 9s; no Aces or 9s; all face cards; all red cards or all black; all cards of the same suit; books of the same denomination in all 4 suits; go out by making a pair; go out by drawing from the wall; go out by drawing from the back of the wall; go out by drawing last available card; go out on your first turn; completely hidden hand; 7 pairs (a hand you can go out with); 9, 12 or 14 sequential cards of the same suit; multiple tomes; etc. etc. etc. Make up your own, or see Parts One, Two, Three, and Four of my "Mah Jongg for Dummies" posts for ideas.

You could make the game even more Mah-Jongg-like by giving each player, at the beginning of the game, a special counter representing one of the four suits. So one player is always associated with hearts, another with spades, etc. Then, analogous to the "seat wind" concept of the original game, bonuses for face cards and bonus cards could be added or multiplied according to whether they matched the player's "seat suit."

Other Asiatic rules could be adapted to Euro-American usage. They are negotiable. Some of the more interesting possibilities include:

1. Waiting: When you declare that you only need one card to win, and you will discard anything that you draw unless it enables you to go out. Let's say it doubles your score if you go out; you get a 100-point penalty if you don't go out; and anyone whose discard enables you to go out is penalized 100 points.
2. Sacred Discard: If you need a card that you previously discarded to win, you may openly declare it a "sacred discard." This warns other players against discarding the same card. Otherwise you must wait until you draw that card from the wall, or look for another card to complete a different book. If you draw someone else's discard to win after failing to declare "sacred discard," you forfeit 5,000 points. If someone discards it after you make this declaration, they pay the same penalty.
3. Penalties may be levied for reneging on a declared win, book, tome, or run (unless corrected before the next player draws), failing to lay down what is supposed to be an open book, tome, or run, or not holding enough cards to go out (apart from bonus cards and an extra card for each tome).

Hand & Foot

After much delay, I give you the wonderful game of Hand & Foot. One reason for the delay is that I had gotten quite rusty, and feared that I may have forgotten some of the rules. My recent visit with my stepmother's Dad gave me an opportunity to brush up. I learned the game from him, and we play it together every chance we get.

A first thing to note is that some people who play a card game called "Hand and Foot" may disagree with the rules below. This is because there are any number of local variations of the game. Whenever you get together with people who supposedly know how to play it, you end up squabbling over whose rules are the best. Let me put an end to all discussion of the sort. I will simply assert, with the autocratic authority to which I am entitled by virtue of being a Fat Stupid Jerk, that the rules you are about to read are the recipe for the most enjoyable variant of the game. So there.

Any number of players, from two on up, can play. You need the same number of decks of cards (poker decks), plus one. Mix all the cards together, including jokers. This will involve several players shuffling and cutting cards to each other until they are deemed sufficiently randomized. Then let each player deal himself two hands of 13 cards each. Leave one in a pile, face-down, for later. That's the "foot," as opposed to the "hand," which you can hold in your hand and look at immediately. The remaining cards are placed in two stock piles, with space between them for a waste pile.

Each turn begins when a player draws two cards from either or both of the stock piles, unless he can pick up the waste pile. Each turn, except perhaps the winning player's last turn, ends when the player discards one card, face-up, onto the waste pile. Each game consists of four rounds, after each of which scores are counted. The player with the highest score at the end of four rounds wins the game.

Points are gained by laying down "books" of cards of the same denomination, with or without wild cards, regardless of suit. Wild cards are the jokers and 2's of all suits. Books are laid down in columns so that all cards in the book show. A book containing one or more wild cards is called a "dirty book." A book with no wild cards is a "clean book." To start a book, you must lay down at least 3 cards all of the same denomination (for a clean book); or at least two of a kind plus a wild card (for a dirty book).

A book must remain clean or dirty according to its status at the end of the turn in which it was first laid down. This is to say, you can't play a wild card on a clean book that was laid down in a previous turn. No more than half of the cards in a dirty book at any time can be wild cards. A dirty book can contain no more than 3 wild cards at any time.

When a book contains 7 cards, it is designated as "closed." This is indicated by folding up the book so that either a red card (for a clean book) or a black card (for a dirty book) shows on top. After it is closed, no more cards may be added to a clean book. However, any number of cards in the same denomination may be added to a closed dirty book. No wild cards may be added to a closed book.

A book containing 6 cards may be designated as "waiting," if the player so chooses. This can be done by turning the top card in the book face-down.

In order to win a round, or "go out," a player must use up all the cards in both his hand and his foot, and close at least 2 dirty books and 2 clean books.

Before a player can lay down any cards, he must be able to meld. This means, in Round 1 of the game, he must be able to lay down 50 points worth of cards to meld. It takes 90 points to meld in Round 2, 120 in Round 3, and 150 in Round 4. Points are assigned as follows: 4's through 9's are worth 5 points; 10's and face cards are worth 10 points; Aces and 2's are worth 20 points; Jokers are worth 50 points. To count as points, cards must be laid down in books. To count toward the meld, the player can use at most the top card from the waste pile, if he drew the waste pile at the start of his turn.

3's may not be made into books. Black 3's are good for only one thing: they "freeze" the waste pile when discarded, so that the next player cannot pick it up. Wild cards also have this effect. But if you are holding any black 3's in your hand or foot when another player "goes out," you lose 100 points for each 3.

Red 3's are another story. When you find one in your hand or foot, or draw it from the pile, you can lay it down at any time (provided it is your turn), then draw another card from a stock pile to replace it. At the end of the round when you count points, each red 3 you have laid down adds 100 points to your score. However, every red 3 you are still holding in your hand or foot will cost you 300 points. Red 3's do not count towards meld.

Picking up the waste pile is sometimes risky. Why? Because another player may "go out" soon afterward and leave you holding a colossal number of cards, each of which will count against your score for the round. Nevertheless, good players covet an opportunity to pick up a big, fat waste pile, because it can add many points to their score. Certain conditions must be met in order to pick up the waste pile: 1) You must have already melded, or be able to meld using at most the top card in the waste pile along with other cards in your hand. 2) The previous player must discard a denomination of which you have at least 2 in your hand. 3) You cannot pick up the pile if a wild card or a black 3 is on top.

After picking up the waste pile, you must immediately play the top card plus at least 2 cards of the same denomination from your hand, either to start a new book or to add to an existing book in your tableau. Beware of picking up the pile when you have already played more than 4 cards in a clean book of the same denomination. You will end up with two books of the same denomination, since a clean book can carry no more than 7 cards. There is no rule against this, but it can make it difficult to close a book. If you pick up the waste pile and meld during the same turn, you must complete your meld from cards in your hand before continuing to play. Then you may add the rest of the discard pile to your hand, and continue to lay down cards as long as you like before ending your turn.

Once you have used up all the cards in your hand, it is time to pick up your "foot" and play it in the same way. If you are able to use up your hand without discarding, you may immediately begin playing cards from your foot on the same turn. If you discard the last card in your hand, you must wait until your next turn to play cards from your foot. Likewise, if you "go out" by discarding the last card from your foot, you immediately win the round; but if you play your last card onto your tableaux, each of the other players is allowed one more turn to play.

After a player "goes out," scores are tallied. Each closed, clean book is worth 500 points. Each closed, dirty book is worth 300 points. Players are advised to note down the total score from their closed books and red 3's before counting the point value of all the cards they have laid down. Unplayed cards remaining in a player's hand or foot are then subtracted from his score. The "winning" player may not achieve the highest score in each round. Whoever has the most closed books - generally also the person who was most successful in picking up the waste pile - will usually score ahead of the other players, regardless of who "went out."

The most delicious moments in the game are those tension-filled turns when each player is hoping the player ahead of him discards something he can pick up, while trying not to discard something the next player can pick up. Or then again, maybe it's those moments when one player is hoping to "go out" before an opponent picks up his foot - the one hoping to draw the cards he needs to go out, the other hoping for another turn. Thus, the game can be filled with suspense and intrigue, subtle ruses, and daring surprises. It also allows players to create enjoyable patterns in game-play that combines elements of strategy, skill, and chance. But be prepared to have your grand strategems thwarted, and to see disastrous losses as well as phenomenally high scores. It's all part of the fun!

Where was I when...?

Tomorrow is the seventh anniversary of one of the biggest "Where were you when...?" moments in living memory. I have lived through a few of them and, of course, I can remember where I was when each of them went down. You wouldn't care, but one is supposed to consider it an interesting topic of conversation.

I reckon the general course of any such conversation must include (a) several people trying to outdo each other but not really listening to what anyone else is saying, and (b) a longwinded recitation of details that are boring to anyone but the teller. Yet the conversational form continues to fascinate so many of us. It's an interesting phenomenon.

It would be interesting, of course, if the answer to "Where were you when...?" was right on the spot where it was happening, or if the event concerned us or our loved ones personally. I have often been moved by stories of the people who lived through, and died in, the 9/11 attacks. I recommend the book 102 Minutes: The Untold Story of the Fight to Survive Inside the Twin Towers by Jim Dwyer, and the movies United 93 and World Trade Center. And I still remember articles from the first issue of Sports Illustrated that came out after the event, chronicling the fate of athletes who were involved. It was the last magazine in the world I ever expected to make me cry, and I still get choked up thinking about it.

I think, when you boil down most of the "Where were you when...?" talk, it amounts to "Did you, or didn't you, stay up around the clock watching the special news coverage?" Those are times when TV news doesn't just take the pulse of the world; it sets it, so that everyone's heart beats in unison while history unfolds in sound-bites and video clips that can be repeated, slowed down, magnified, and commented upon until the next bit of information comes down the pipeline.

How interesting the world will be, from my point of view, as such events continue to happen in these post-TV years. I've been in recovery from being tube-fed since July 2002. TV no longer dictates to me the rhythm of my life, the way I view the world, my interpretation of events, or my thoughts about what's "hot" and what's "not." Future "Where were you when...?" events may hold a different meaning for me, since I won't be able to participate in those conversations on the same level as people who stayed up all night watching the CNN coverage. Possibly the answer will be, "I heard about it on the radio while driving home from work. I looked up an article or two on Google News when I got home. I went to bed and slept like a baby, while whatever happened happened. Then I heard what had happened on the radio going to work the next morning. Heigh ho."

I probably won't be included in many such conversations after that. People will think I'm odd. And I am. But honestly: life is possible without TV.

Musical Week

This week has been all about music for me. That's why you haven't heard from me much. The 7th was our first Sunday back on the "two services" worship schedule, after our summer hours with a single service following Bible study. So once again I get two chances to play all the organ pieces I pick out each week - two chances to get them right! Yesterday my main accomplishment was whipping up a choir piece (a setting of Psalm 133) for my church choir. Tonight was the Symphony Chorus's last practice before facing "performance week," a guest conductor, and Howard Shore's Lord of the Rings Symphony.

So I have snippets of Elvish knocking around in my head, together with phrases of a choir piece so new that no one has heard it yet but me. Tomorrow night I get to introduce it to the church choir and see whether I can tempt them to try it. Hopefully I will also have time to dig out a backup piece in case they say, "Pee-yew!"

That won't stop the piece from going around in my head. The only thing I can do about it is to start working on another composition. I have several ideas in my head, interesting challenges I am eager to face as the new choral singing season heats up. I have a commission to work on, a hymnal project to push forward, and of course lots of symphony stuff to learn in the months to come - from Verdi's Requiem to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It's going to rock! And you thought football was exciting!

Something I Miss

When I was a snot-nosed brat in, I don't know, maybe fourth grade, my parents bought a set of classical LPs for me at a garage sale. I can even remember whose garage sale it was. That's how important this set of records was in my life.

The album, titled something like "Readers' Digest Music of the World's Greatest Composers," came with 12 vinyl records and a booklet of biographies of the composers represented in the collection. Outside of piano lessons and Bugs Bunny cartoons, this was my first exposure to the world of fine-art music. It featured works by Bach, Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Rossini, Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Liszt, Wagner, Franck, Brahms, Dvorak, Johann Strauss and Richard Strauss, Verdi, Grieg, Rimsky-Korsakov, Sibelius, and Stravinsky. I don't remember who else.

The set had recordings of many pieces that remain among my favorites today. It packed several complete symphonies, plus overtures, tone poems, and orchestral suites. I played them over and over until I had many of the pieces memorized. I read the book to tatters. Together with a similar set of LPs handed down to me by an uncle, these formed the musical universe that lived in my head until I was in, say, eleventh grade.

I don't recall the title of the second set. It didn't have a booklet, but it did have several concertos, the entire B-minor Mass by Bach, and other stuff I hadn't heard before. Eventually I collected more classical LPs on my own. I had some good ones. I particularly remember the full set of Bartok string quartets. But gradually I started replacing the vinyl disks with CDs. They were easier to store, and (dupe that I was) I thought they would last longer and produce better sound. Eventually, the LPs landed in a garage sale and made someone else (I hope and trust) as happy as they had made me.

I regret those LPs now, especially the original Reader's Digest set. Partly it's just nostalgia. How comforting it would be to hold that booklet in my hands again and revisit the place where I first got to know so many of my heroes! But there is another factor in my regret. It's the fact that several of the pieces in that set surpass the quality of any other recording of them that I have heard. Rimsky's Russian Easter Overture is one example: the vinyl version was exquisitely balanced and engineered, while my current CD version is noticeably inferior. Another example is Franck's D minor Symphony, of whose first movement the LP contained the only performance I have ever heard that didn't drag tediously. Something of the shining mystery and magic of many of the other pieces seems to be missing from commercial recordings I have heard since then. The last time I heard Mozart's 40th on the radio, the first movement went so slowly that one heard fussy, jerky, individual notes where there should have been cascades of them.

I guess they just don't record fine-art music as well as they used to. Isn't it a pity! Current technology is broadening horizons of the clarity and depth possible in a sound recording. But, it seems, today's sound engineers, producers, and performers are trusting the technology too much. How else can one explain the fact that some old recordings, made using less advanced technology, remain the most compelling performances and the most finely balanced and nuanced recordings available? How else can one explain that even a long-time CD nut like me - and I'm no audiophile; my current sound system is a $40 boombox from Wal-Mart - can clearly recall hearing better stuff off a vinyl LP that I last heard in about 1990?

Lasagna, Bachelor Style

It has been way too long since I have cooked my own lasagna at home. I did it today, with terrific results. But how I did it is worth telling.

The immediate problem confronting a bachelor like me is that the typical recipe for lasagna - and the quantities in which the ingredients are packaged - result in enough piping-hot food to fill a deep-dish, 9-by-13-inch pan. This presents a practical difficulty: I simply can't eat that much lasagna! Most of it will end up becoming leftovers.

If I ate it for dinner every night, it would take me a week to finish it all. I could cut the time down by eating it at every meal, but that's no way to balance one's diet. I would be so sick of the stuff after days of eating nothing else - especially as it grows tough and rubbery - that I might end up throwing some away. Best-case scenario, I freeze portions to heat up in the microwave at a later date - though, in my opinion, frozen-reheated lasagna is never all one hopes it will be. So, unless I hold off on making lasagna for when I have company (which is less than once a year), I have to weigh my love of the dish against the waste. That's what comes of cooking enough for 4-6 people when you're dining alone.

Bottom line, I haven't made lasagna in years. When I really have a jones on, I go to some restaurant that serves it and try theirs. Even if I like the way I make it better than most restaurants' version, I live in the right neighborhood to explore the possibilities - the Hill, where there are more Italian flags than American ones.

While shopping for groceries on Thursday, I decided to make lasagna again. But this time, I made plans to avoid the horror of a refrigerator full of moldering lasagna.

I started by buying ingredients for another dish altogether: the Cedric Adams hotdish I have described on this blog. I bought a head of cabbage, a Vidalia onion, a can of tomato soup, and a 2-pound package of ground beef - neither the leanest nor the fattest kind on offer. But then I also tossed in some lasagna ingredients - the type of lasagne noodles you don't have to boil; a 15-ounce tub of ricotta cheese; a carton of 8 eggs; some already-shredded mozarella; and a 26.5-ounce can of the store brand pasta sauce (smooth, traditional flavor). Knowing that I was going to cut down both recipes, I made up my mind to stretch the onion and hamburger between them.

Thursday night, I cut the cabbage into three portions. I stored two of the portions in the fridge against a near-future repeat of this experiment; the remaining third I sliced up and blanched for 2 minutes in boiling water, then drained. While the ground beef was browning in a saucepan with some olive oil, a little anchovy paste, a clove of minced roasted garlic, and a tint of marjoram, I chopped up the onion and set it aside. This turns out to be a critical step.

Conventional wisdom seems to have it that the onion should be browned with the hamburger. This may be true in dishes like chile, which are mostly done when the meat is browned, but not (I find) when you are going to bake the meat and onions afterward. Overcooking causes onions to become limp and flavorless - or even worse, to dissolve altogether. To ensure that I ended up with onions I could sink my teeth into, onions that profoundly influenced the flavor of the dish, I simply chopped them and set them aside, blending the fully-browned meat with them afterward.

Then I combined my blanched cabbage with half of the meat and onion mixture in a 7-by-10-inch pan (!), spread the contents of a tin of tomato soup over the top, covered it with foil, and baked in a 350-degree oven for half an hour. I sealed up the remaining browned hamburger and uncooked unions and refrigerated them for another day. The Cedric Adams hotdish came out nicely, with plenty of tender onion and cabbage mixed with the meat in a moist, sweet glaze. It wasn't exactly "food channel" material, but it went down well and yielded only enough leftovers for an enjoyable lunch on Friday.

This morning, I sneaked a little of the onion-and-beef mixture and used it in an omelette. That was quite good too. But in the afternoon, I decided to combine lunch with dinner and make the lasagna I had been pining for all along. The meat was already browned. The onion was already chopped. I had only to mix two eggs, the ricotta, half a cup of parmesan, and half the package of shredded mozarella. I added some ground black pepper and some crushed mint leaves, though those are only strictly necessary when you're making manicotti. I covered the bottom of the 7-by-10 with red sauce, then fitted most of 3 flat, ready-to-bake lasagne noodles on the bottom. I had to break a little off the short end each one, plus a bit off the long side of one of them, to make them fit in the pan. What did I tell you about a 9-by-13 being assumed?

I spread a good 1/3 of the ricotta mixture on the noodles, then half the meat and onion, then half of the remaining mozarella, then another helping of sauce. I broke the ends off two more noodles, laid them on top, and fitted the broken pieces into the space a third noodle would have occupied. Then I put on another 1/3 of the ricotta, the remaining meat and onion, a goodly amount of sauce, and the rest of the mozarella. The dish being shallower than the 9-by-13 in which it typically nests, that was as many layers as I could fit in it. It was a seriously abridged recipe, but it would have to do. I put the rest of the noodles (better than half the package) back in the cupboard; I sealed up the leftover ricotta mixture and threw it in the freezer; and while the covered dish was baking at 375 degrees, I poured what remained of the pasta sauce over two pieces of toast and ate them with a sprinkling of parmesan.

A little over an hour later, I pulled the lasagna out of the oven and let it cool for a while. Then I dug in. It was delicious! The part that pleased me most was the consistency and flavor of the onions, which would never have amounted to anything if I had browned them with the meat. For a store-brand canned sauce, the "smooth, traditional" red stuff contributed a good flavor. I didn't miss the heaps of basil, oregano, and other stereotypically Italian herbs that I could have added, though I believe the mint made a subtle improvement.

I didn't spend hours slaving over this lasagna. It took two minutes to make the cheese mixture. Everything else was ready to go except building the thing, and that didn't take as long as preheating the oven. Best of all, by the time I didn't feel like eating any more, half of the lasagna was gone. I was able to squeeze all the leftovers into one sealable storage container, from which I will probably nibble a little later. If I don't finish the leftovers at lunch tomorrow, I may have just enough for another late-night snack, then no more worries about crummy, rubberized lasagna stinking up my fridge.

So for quick, easy, cheap, bachelor-sized lasagna that packs some outstanding flavor highlights, I recommend (a) using a smaller, shallower pan; (b) saving half the meat, onion, and ricotta mixture for other things; (c) breaking the ready-to-bake noodles to fit the pan, and saving some of them as well; (d) browning the meat with olive oil, anchovy paste, minced garlic, and a pinch of marjoram; (e) flavoring the ricotta mixture with a little mint and black pepper; (f) baking raw chopped onions, rather than browning them with the meat; and (g) snacking on toast with the remaining red sauce that you don't use in the dish. Everything can be "store brand" except the pasta itself, for which I recommend the Barilla brand. Of course you can season yours any way you like. You can go to much more trouble, if you feel you must. But at least assembled-by-hand (if not completely home-made) can be better than the stuff you buy in the frozen aisle, and gives you the chance to fix whatever the restaurants don't do right.

Guest Beds from Hell

The guest beds at my Dad's house are actually fairly comfortable. My only complaints about them are that the twin-sized models in Guest Bedroom No. 2 (which also serves as his home office) often need to have a layer of papers, books, and clerical supplies swept off them before they can be slept on. We jokingly refer to this as "clearing the desk off." Depending on how long Mr. and Mrs. Dad have gone without overnight company, there may also be piles of books, folders, binders, 12-packs of soda, etc. stacked precariously all over the room, so that one must pick one's way through them with ludicrous care.

Other than that, their guest beds are old friends. I believe I slept on one of them all the way through high school. I am fairly used to the way each of them "speaks," in its own creaky, jingly accent, every time I turn over or shift my weight on the mattress. I only hope the noise doesn't disturb other people trying to sleep nearby.

My Mom, on the other hand, has the guest bed from hell. First off, it's a fold-out couch, which guarantees that, regardless of the mattress, you will feel the steel bar across the frame, cutting off the circulation to your lower legs. Second, it is absurdly narrow; two of them side-by-side would make up a twin bed. You have to lie on your side with your knees drawn up to fit on it. Third, she has crowded her guest room with so much furniture that there is barely enough room to unfold the thing. And finally, it is surrounded on nearly all sides by fussy little curios that you are supposed to try not to knock over while tossing and turning through the night. My mother shook her head in disbelief when I told her she had to pull down an unsecured piece of curly-kew ironwork with squat candles balanced all over it, which stood on a glass-topped table literally inches from this bed. I surely did not want to awaken at 4 a.m. sandwiched between two layers of unforgiving iron, dusted wtih broken glass, and bruised by a hailstorm of softball-sized candles.

In short, the old lady needs new hardware. I have visited many states and a few countries. I have slept in all kinds of accomodations, including ones whose memory raises my blood pressure. But Mom's fold-out just about takes the cake. Then there's her living room, which still contains the sofa her late husband sat on with his guitar across his lap, pretty much non-stop from 1987 to 2004. The shape of his ass is permanently embedded in its cushions. It is as hard, lumpy, awkward a piece of furniture as you could ask for, as if its cushions are filled not with horsehair but with horse bones.

So yesterday, as I browsed around World Market, I spotted a papasan chair surrounded by a variety of cushions. What do you think? Would this be an adequate bribe to get my mother to throw out that old horse-bone couch? Or should I opt for one of those nice Parker sleeper sofas? I mean the reclining ones with the seat cushions that fold straight out to form the foot of the bed. I saw these and other intriguing possibilities for situating Mom's "guest discommodations" somewhat north of the Circle of Hell they currently orbit. I wonder how she would react...