But such is the soothing power of wine – it tastes just as good and necessary after a loss as after a win. When I got home from The Owl Farm, a new beer bar in Park Slope where we watched the match, I whizzed up a big batch of pesto in the Cuisinart, mixed it with blanched English peas and ternetta, a linguini-shaped pasta, and grated some Pecorino over the top. Faster than the steam could clear from Balotelli’s ridiculous blond fauxhawk, dinner was served. A twirl of pasta washed down with the Chianti, still redolent of fresh cherries, sure tasted like victory to me. [Read more...]