It’s the same thing as trying to read a recipe and it starts with an essay about “I first tasted this dish while on vacation in Tuscany with my husband Bob and our dog Scoochie (luv you Scoochie! here’s a picture of Scoochie sniffing an acorn.) We stayed at this lovely bed and breakfast and waking every morning to the sights and smells of the Italian countryside. Now, you can use any raisins but the preferred type are called Mariocastellani Pizzaluigi and are only grown in the Fettuccine Valley of the Rigatoni province. They taste like apples and peaches on a breezy afternoon when there’s a hint of rain on the horizon while an old man named Alfredo Formaggio chain smokes and watches futbol (we call it soccer!) on a wood panel television set. In the afternoon Scoochie took a giant shit in my ass and I died of dogshitanosis. Bob joined the navy and had a bunch of gay sex. So for starters you’ll need three cups of unenriched oat flour…”