​

 

It is November 7th 2020. We have just witnessed the election with the largest voter turnout percentage since 1900. The nation is bubbling with angst and excitement. The spin has started. The Republicans have escaped the Trump era losing few seats . The president is acting and speaking as if he is going to refuse to acknowledge the outcome of the election.  As the dust settles and legal teams begin their briefings on cases surely destined to be heard by the supreme court,I find myself literally concussed, tired of the dull roar of political pundits who are scrambling to save any shred of credibility, but above all else, I am dying for some of Uncle Timmy's Fire Pasta. 

When my Parents met they were living in DC. During the early years of their relationship my father worked on the hill writing speeches for democratic power players, and running an international consortium of legislators called GLOBE. ( Global Legislators for a Balanced Environment) My mother was working her guts out in private banking. This period was brought to a crashing halt by two events culminating in 1996. Firstly my fathers' best friend on the hill, a representative by the name of Michael Lynn Synar, whose surname I bear as my middle name, died at 45 years old from a brain tumor.

 Winner of the Kennedy Profile in Courage Award, Mike fought valiantly against corporate use of public lands, big tobacco and even congress itself, taking a case to the supreme court and winning. That case overturned the disastrous budget sequestration powers given to congress in the Gramm-Rudman-Hollings Act, in the case Bowsher v. Synar.

He fought for principles as well. Mike fought for gun control and campaign finance reform, clean air and access to healthcare for the rural poor, who were so numerous amongst his constituents.

By 1994 the NRA and oil companies with interests in his home state of Oklahoma, were fed up.  Millions of dollars were poured into the campaign of an opposing candidate. Mike lost his seat after 15 years of service. 

​

One poignant moment that my father often recalls and references to me is Mike's observation while on a long walk outside of Lisbon, Portugal in the early 90's…..

 

 "you see Patrick, ever since Reagan you just can't run against the rich anymore…. You know why that is? It's because he convinced every damn American that someday they will be rich too."

 

As Bill Clinton's remarks at Mike's funeral put it... 

 

"Mike did not always do what was popular, but he always did what was right for the people of his state and country."

 

The second event was the birth of my elder brother in 1994. He was born with Cerebral Palsy. It became abundantly clear within his first two years that life long intensive medical care was going to be needed. The move was on to find a way to live closer to the best hospitals in the world for this condition. The move was on to find a way to live closer to Boston. That is why we washed ashore on Cape Cod, where I was born. 

​

This recipe for the Fire Pasta, or rather, it's facsimile that my father would pull out from time to time would remind him of their time in DC. "Uncle Timmy"  and Quentin Mcanderew were my Parents best couple friends as DINKs. ( double income no kids ) They left too, to London, not long after my parents moved to the Cape. My father had cut his teeth and made his way up the ladder rungs of politics all during the phase in which each weekend, the four of them could relax in a group home in Georgetown as various characters came and went. They could sit together reflecting on the week, commiserating in hardship at work, telling jokes, having big conversations. And, if they really wanted, they could get drunk without fear of having to  handle a medical emergency. 1996 was the end of my parents' ability to relax.

But each time my father would pull the recipe out from a kitchen drawer and begin to read aloud " It's Friday evening, the moon is low and full….." a little glimmer of that time and what it meant to him would shine through. 

I like this recipe for four main reasons. 

1. Each time I prepare it I remember the sacrifices my parents made to get my brother the best medical care and the emotional and professional toll it has taken on them. 

2.Garlic

3.Garlic 

4.Garlic. 

This is a meal I cook regularly, my girlfriend's favorite. This evening I will be toasting champagne, drinking red wine and making firepasta with my best friend and our girlfriends. I took a poll of us each around the table one recent evening. Mike was right, all but one were convinced we would end up rich. Only time will tell. One day many years from now, when things have become full and complex in our lives too, rich or not, and we can only squeeze in a call with one another every few months or so, and our children are upset and being loud we will go to the drawer and pull out a copy of a recipe we have yet to write down and we will remember these times we are in now as I am writing. We will be so grateful for them, and the glow of good times gone by will wash over us as I have seen happen to my father so many times before.

 

Without further ado here is the recipe for UNCLE TIMMY'S FIRE PASTA

​

​

​

​

​