Waiter, there is an anchovy in my pasta! One of the major differences between the Federal Prison and my current abode, the New York State prison system, is the ability to receive up to thirty-five pounds of food from the free world each month.

One of my fellow inmates received 6 cans of anchovies on a visit last week. He was kind enough to give me a can. Today for lunch I cooked up about a third of a pound of pasta, added a tablespoon of margarine, some garlic powder and the can of anchovies and lunch was served.

It is certainly an interesting experience to be able to taste something that you have not had in over nine years. My taste buds were sending massive sensory overload messages to my brain. They did not understand this flavor that was registering as familiar yet at the same time a very distant memory.

It is now one half hour since I finished my lunch and I am about to go out and commit armed robbery and get the rest of the cans of anchovies sitting in his locker. (Not really, but there maybe some unsightly begging and pleading going on for an additional can or two. Shameless.)

OK, I did end up with one more can but as they say in prison, "Don't ask questions in the big house."

I have figured out that you can safely cook one third of a pound of pasta at a time in my little five cup, non-boiling clear plastic hot pot. Once the water reaches the two hundred degree mark, and you put the pasta in, it takes about twenty minutes. Patience strikes again.  ¶ 3:06 PM