The Starving Actor: Carbonara 2.0

"Terry, you've really done it this time."

"I've been making it every day for the past year!"

"The Nobel Prize for Carbonara goes too..."

Yes, thank you. These are all familiar phrases to me now.

But it's time to confess: I've been misleading all of you.

I've given you all a fool's recipe. It's all BULLSHIT, and it fails to unlock the full potential of carbonara.

I was never the King of Carbonara.

But I am now! With help form America's Test Kitchen, I am able to bring you the TRUE definitive recipe for carbonara. It's a lot like my old one, but with some key differences when it comes to pulling off the finishing touches.

So here we go again.

Carbonara

Half a package of bacon (about 1/2 pound)
A medium-to-large-sized onion
Half a package of linguini (about 1/2 pound)
2 jumbo eggs (OR, 3 large eggs)
1 cup of Parmesan cheese
Some olive oil
Some salt
3 or 4 medium-sized cloves of garlic



1. Chop your bacon and onions and garlic. Bacon is easily cut into "matchsticks" while cold - or even frozen! - and just out of its package. Your onion can be cut to desired fineness. The goal is to achieve a 1:1 ratio of bacon to onion. The garlic should be minced.



2. Get your water boiling. You know, for the pasta.



3. Put your cheese into a large bowl. This'll be your serving bowl, too, so make sure it's spacious enough. HOPEFULLY, you've grated the cheese from a larger block, 'cause it'll taste better and it'll save you money. The important thing is you end up with about a cup of Parmesan cheese.



4. Add the eggs.



5. Mix it allllll together, until it reaches a consistency in which you can see the path of your utensil. If it's too liquidy, add some more cheese. If it's too dry, add another egg! I would not go above three, though.

In the old recipe, I had the eggs and cheese as the very last step. I was a monster, and though I don't deserve your trust now, I can tell you that mixing this sauce beforehand does a lot to prevent it from overcooking and becoming tough. It's also just so much easier.



6. Add your minced garlic, and give it another stir.

This is probably the most important difference in the new recipe - fresh garlic. I used to add garlic or garlic powder in with the other ingredients and cook them all together. Bullshit! This was a stupid thing to do.

By adding the garlic fresh - UNCOOKED - it keeps its strong, garlicky taste. Super fragrant. It's the best part of the recipe.

Ever since this discovery, any time a recipe asks for garlic, I always add it last, barely cooking it at all. It makes a little garlic go a long way.

This is the True Way.

All of this stuff with the eggs and cheese can be done while you're cooking during the following steps:




7. Saute your bacon over medium-high heat in a largish pan. Bacon is mostly fatty enough to cook on its own without oil or butter or anything, though a dollop of olive oil will keep it from sticking to the pan. Stir once in a while to keep it all cooking evenly.



In my previous recipe, I said it was alright if the bacon was still pink. That is still true, but I find getting it a little closer closer to red - to a medium crispness - results in a more pleasant texture. This will result in more bacon grease in the pan, which will stymie the cooking process - pour it off if there's too much.



8. Set the bacon aside on some paper towels. God rest you, bacon.



9. Hopefully your water is boiling by now, so cook that pasta. Linguini, we found, is just the right thickness for the recipe, but any of your long pastas will do in a pinch. (Add some salt and a touch of balsamic vinegar if you want some help in keeping it from clumping)



10. Leave a touch of bacon grease in the pan (like, a table spoon), and toss the onions in the same pan at medium-high heat. Add some salt, and stir until they're all coated evenly. You'll know, 'cause they'll all be shiny. If they seem at all dry, you can add a little olive oil.



Cook and stir occasionally to make sure they're all cooked evenly, until they start to get soft or when you start to see them brown lightly in some spots. You shouldn't let them get browner than this.



11. Reintroduce the bacon to the onions, give 'em a mix, and turn the heat off while the pasta finishes.



12. Strain the pasta. Let it sit aside for about a minute to cool down.



13. Mix the pasta into the cheese/garlic/eggs mixture. The heat from the pasta will cook the eggs gradually, resulting in a creamy sauce. If you combine the sauce with the pasta too quickly after straining it, you'll get a clumpy sauce that I bet you won't like.



14. Once the pasta's thoroughly mixed in, add the bacon and onion, and stir again.



You did it! You made carbonara! Great going. Serve with salad, crusty bread, some wine, and salt and pepper to taste.

#Z. Two Wrongs

Brown Box held auditions for a comedy called Two Wrongs. Like most of their productions of late, it opens here in Boston, and then tours down to Maryland. Fun, and funny!

Now, I didn't (read: forgot to) bring a headshot to my audition, but I'm writing about it anyway for one main reason.

The auditions were held at the mysterious Huntington Theatre Company offices on Huntington Avenue. Well, "mysterious" mostly because they're beneath below street level, under a convenience store.



But this waiting room! Talk about comfy. That armchair in the foreground? That couch to the side? So inviting. So warm. With the right mix of people, it also makes for a very collaborative, communal space - as occurred very neatly during callbacks.

So here's some REAL advice for you actors out there. If you're ever asked to audition at the Huntington Theatre Company offices, show up early, 'cause these seats are HOT.

Oh, yeah, and



Still, 1 headshot remains.

The Worst Audition

Here's why actors don't like linereadings.

Acting is a form of reasoning.

Using clues in the text, reacting to choices made by others in a scene, and interpreting notes from a director, an actor makes the choices that ultimately result in the actions we see and the dialog we hear.

Acting is a translation of assembled information into something more specific and more complex.

Although everything the actor has received through the text and the direction has been distilled into a single action, that action is still made up of all the deductions made by the actor up until that point.

No, y'know what? Acting is making a sandwich.

Let's say you have a personal chef. It's lunch time, and you'd like a sandwich, so this chef you hired is going to make one.

So you are going to supply your chef the ingredients they need and your chef will make that sandwich.

Naturally, the sandwich will be made to your order, but you are counting on this chef - whom you have proven you trust implicitly, as you hired them - to interpret your orders in a way that results in a sandwich that reaches its fullest potential while agreeing with your assumption as to what the sandwich should be.

Your chef will select the proper quantities to balance the flavors, your chef will choose the type of spread and apply it with their personal flourish, your chef will toast the bread to the crunchiness that will contrast with the texture of the rest of the ingredients while maintaining its structural integrity.

They do this, for this is their job. The result is a sandwich made carefully and deliberately, for it reflects their craft and their pride in their work.



If in their efforts an actor reaches a conclusion that does not support the scene or the work at large, a director will discuss other sensible approaches based on the text, identify an actor's motivations and reinterpret it to reach a compromise, or propose different actions to take that will influence the outcome of the scene.

This is all to direct an actor toward a conclusion that fits the director's vision and still reflects the depth of that actor's decision. That's why they're called directors and not tellers.

A director could choose instead to give the actor an emotion to play, or read the line to them in a way they would prefer it be said, with all the same inflection.

What this does is make an actor work backwards. Now that they have the conclusion they must now go back to look for the evidence.

This can result in two things. Upon being told to read a line "more loudly" with "more anger" an actor may begin to think:

"Okay. Am I angry because of a perceived sleight, or am I angry because of someone's stupidity? Am I loud in a way that I don't want to be here anymore, or am I angry in a way that I want to be listened to? Maybe I'm trying to make THEM leave..."

What you are doing is making more work. If there is nothing to suggest loudness or anger in the text, the actor will start to manufacture their own clues, resulting in a broad decision that may need to be corrected anyway.

This is the best case scenario. Otherwise, an actor might take your linereading very literally, down to the exact detail. What you are doing is setting a precedent in which an actor will do noting but what you say. This could result in an actor who makes no bold choices at all, or an actor who will ask you to vet every one of their decisions. "Should I walk over here now? Is it okay if I sit before that line? I'll sit after that line, but can I drink from the glass after I sit?"

PROTIP: Rather than telling an actor how they should feel when saying something, tell them what they should try to accomplish by saying it. "Make them regret it" or "defend yourself" or "convince them to stay" are all playable actions which can result in movements, tics, and emotions with more facets than "angry" or "upset".

So, all I'm saying is

when you give a linereading to an actor

what you are doing

is asking your chef for a sandwich

and then handing them this.

#Y. Nora Theatre Company

I got a call from the Nora Theater Company in Central Square, having seen me at Stagesource. inviting for an audition.

I was working at the time, so when I called, they were DONE working. So I sent an email, accepting.

They got back to me to tell me

1. it was for Absurd Person Singular by Alyn Ayckbourn.

2. sides were available at the Stagesource office (which was closed for the weekend at the time of the email)

3. they wanted a read for Sidney, who has a working class British dialect.

Haaaa, man. Here's the thing. I was a redcoat for a bit.



We mostly just hung out by Faneuil Hall Marketplace, doing cool stuff with our guns, being friendly to people. I could do a pretty rubbish, yet still somewhat believable British accent - somewhere between Ringo Starr and Dick Van Dyke.

In fact, once some girls came up to us while we were still doing the accents who believed it was how we actually talked. When we switched to how we normally spoke, they were super delighted, thinking I was putting on an American accent.

Of course, I've gotten Brits telling me it wasn't GREAT either... They couldn't tell where I was from. I suppose it's a lot like someone talking like a cowboy portrayed by John Wayne and calling it an American accent.

The thing is, the only way I could do even that shitty accent was while I was dressed as a redcoat in the company of others dressed the same way.

Accents have always kind of terrified me, and I regret not studying dialects in school.

I remember the first summer after going to college, someone asked me to do an impersonation of Harry Potter - I had round glasses and longer hair at the time.

It didn't matter that I made a distinction between acting and impersonating. It was still a blow to my confidence when I didn't know what to do.

Still... I accepted the audition invitation. You can only learn if you do, right?

What sucked is that I couldn't even read the audition sides until an hour and a half before the audition.

The whole day I listened to a British dialect CD I had borrowed from my old roommate. A track on the CD suggests that

you should be comfortable with the accent before you begin rehearsal.

Thanks, CD, but I gotta land the audition before I get to that point.

Then I rushed right to the audition at the Central Square Theatre. I had auditioned there just once before.

David, the gentleman who was my contact, handed me the sides in question. There was a scene and a monologue.

There were others in the room, already, auditioning. Two voices. I realized then, to my horror, that I would have to audition with someone else.

I just looked at the sides, wishing I had a pen, 30 more minutes, and more knowledge of the phonetic alphabet.

Bridgette Hayes then showed up, the fantastic Ophelia in From Denmark With Love. It did take a moment for either of us to realize how we recognized the other.

Then we settled down and looked at the sides.

And then Bridgette said, aloud,



The USS Confidence crashed right into that.

I did not read with Bridgette, though. I read with the next to enter, Anna Waldron, whom I respect greatly.

I really wished it were anyone else. I didn't need Anna to hear me tell the auditioneers that I did not have my headshot or resume. I spent so much time making sure the dialect CD was on my iPod, I completely forgot. (I did not ask, "What did you do with the copy you got from my Stagesource audition?" though I did want to.)

I also didn't want Anna to hear me fumble through the entire scene with an accent that wasn't from anywhere in the United Kingdom.

Fortunately, no one had to hear anything else, because I wasn't asked to read the other side.

I ran home in the rain.

#Woof. Crab the Dog

Commonwealth Shakespeare Company is looking for a few dogs to tag team the role of Crab the Dog in Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Lauren and I brought our dog Brother the Rott-Chihuahua and Internet celebrity Maestro the Corgi to the audition.



Look at these picturesque pups. Both know a couple of tricks and have been trained in the ways of agility, and they've been around actors.

The audition was held at Bark Place in the South End. You can wash your own dog there! Lauren spied on this happy pup as she got her bath.



Lauren took Brother in before the director, the gentleman playing Launce, and many others.

Brother: 25% Rottweiler, 25% Catahoula Leopard Hound, 50% Chihuahua. 30 lbs. Loves small, darting things. Hates noises with unverifiable sources. Can jump three times his own height when excited.



He was freaked out by the man with the camera because it had a light mounted on it, which made it look like the camera was a scary floating thing that hated him.

Yeah, it was a long shot, we knew Brother is just too antsy to be a Show Dog. Be we wanted to give him new experiences.

I took Maestro out before the assembly, on behalf of his owners.



Maestro: Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Fluffy as cotton balls, dense as dark matter. Loves balls, food. Hates brooms, exhaust fans. Will play fetch for as long as any human is willing.

Unlike Brother, Maestro can accept many weird situations in stride. Also, he knows a butt-ton of tricks! They were all quite enamored with Bang! That's when he gets shot with an imaginary bullet and plays dead. He held this position while everyone took pictures.



The Results

Maestro is already among the few esteemed dogs offered the role of Crab.

All those who know him are unsurprised.

#X. Stagesource, Again

The big one! It's been a while, so I was actually excited for this one.

My big self-imposed challenge for this one was to debut two brand new monologues.

Techincally, I failed. Not that I haven't enjoyed what I've seen or read, but nothing that was particularly me

SO I went with Prince Lir, whom I used just once before, and one from my character in Party Time. (coming later this July!!)

Of course, the big thing about non-Equity auditions is the two-minute time limit on the audition. (My peer Joe, as a Union member, gets three whole minutes.)

A peer of ours named Casey Preston posted some Stagesource advice on Joe's Facebook wall.

Do two contrasting monologues with contrasts within the contrasting monologue. Forget about trying to tell a story or have the monologue make sense. Nobody is actually paying attention. Your goal should be to wake up the audience by showing your ability to quickly change moods or characters.

I cut down both monologues a lot and actually timed myself. Every few times I went over I looked out for another sentence to drop. Whenever I was worried about making sense, I reminded myself that sense may not necessarily be the most important part of my audition.

How do other people do it? I still don't know.

The scheduled audition time was for 11:00am. I was asked to show up 45 minutes before. So basically my audition time was 10:15am. I got up nice and early, so instead of making the transfer at Downtown Crossing, I walked through Chinatown up Washington Street.

It was in a rehearsal hall in the Calderwood Pavilion, Boston's theatrical bastion. I headed up to the top floor, where the actors were corralled, and handed over my 40 headshots.

Since every waiting chair was taken, I put my stuff down on the floor, slumped against the corner, and played a little Wild Arms.

I met a fella named Woody, with whom I commiserated about a dearth of seating and a surfeit of time. Soon, Juan C. Rodriguez appeared. We were all in the 11 o'clock crew. My roommate Chelsea appeared soon after.

When our turn came, we were trotted to the break room just outside of the rehearsal hall, at which point we were informed about the audition space, including the presence of a precious chair, and reminded about the 2-minute limit - the stage manager, Maureen, would open the door to the hall and say, "Time."

We were also informed that we'd have 10-seconds prior to say Hello and introduce our pieces. It was then that I forgot who wrote The Last Unicorn.

Some people got their audition down pat. Woody strolled out of the door just as Maureen opened it to say, "Time."

When I went in, I said, "Hey, gang," grabbed the chair, placed it up-left, came down center and said, "These two pieces are from The Last Unicorn and Pinter's Party Time."

I liked doing the Unicorn piece. I don't think I'm who comes to mind when casting directors think of "princely" but it was mostly for me to have fun and get energized.

The Party Time one, though, is definitely what people would cast me for - a sad weirdo with serious problems. I got to the last word just as Maureen said, "Time."

I realize now that I had actually been concerned with how much time I had left for the duration of my audition. While my mind was thinking about the clock, my mouth and the rest of my body were acting.

Practice is so important that way!







1 headshot remains.