This week, I decided to talk about something dear to my heart: getting laid. This recipe is the ultimate time-to-take-things-to-the-bone-zone meal, unless you’re cooking for your family — in that case, I say, do not cook this particular recipe. It’s just too powerful.

Italian Americans are always talking about how they are Italian, bragging about their mother’s marinara, and mispronouncing Italian words in cheesy accents. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, I’ve noticed that most of the ones I’ve met, or am related to, don’t actually cook Italian food, never make their own pasta, and wouldn’t know a good marinara if it was keying their Camaro right in front of their Staten Island duplex.

Every once in a while, I like to wake up, look at myself in the mirror, and then cry. First, having a giant vat of duck fat in my fridge probably isn’t helping my love handles. Unrelated to that, the morning is also when I realize that I’m never going to be the kind of adult I thought existed when I was a child (see: mature and confident). Basically, it’s a recipe for misery, and planning a fatty meal will only add to the sadness.

People are always asking me, “Theo, what should I do with all the Choux paste that’s sitting around my kitchen?” And I’m always like, “Can I just get my transfer, dude? I’m in a hurry.”

I read something the other day that began to the tune of: “The new fad is cheap cuts, slow-cooked and elegantly presented.” You ever listen to a campaign ad over the radio that is about 90 percent bullshit and find yourself retorting, out loud? That was basically my response to the “fad” tripe, only I think I used my hands.

I love Thai food, but I don’t ever cook it. The primary reason is that I happen to live in a neighborhood chock-full of amazing Thai, Vietnamese and Chinese food. Those restaurants are all lightningfast. Plus, most of the sauces used in those dishes are pre-made and, for some reason, I find that unacceptable to do at home.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been sharing some recipes that, in retrospect, haven’t been the healthiest options. Sure, pizza, in moderation, especially with a mostly wheat crust, probably isn’t going to result in an upgrade in coffin size and a rush order, but it’s not what I would consider healthy. So this week, I wanted to do something fast, easy and healthy. Cue the kale.

For those of you returning this week with a healthy starter, let’s talk pizza. For those who are like, “Why part 2?” I don’t know what to tell you. Call Doc Brown or Huey Lewis, whoever can get you back in time faster.

Wood-fired, brick oven Napoletana. Put this in front of the word pizza, and people will pay about $18 for a tiny 12-inch pie made with less than $4 of ingredients. The problem is, in my experience, the success rate for traditional ’za, good enough to bring a tear to any giant Italian grandmother’s eye (I’m Italian, so I can say this), is about 10 percent.

Here are some tasty finger foods, just in time to miss the Super Bowl by a week and a half: Roast garlic and leek blinis, topped with tomato marmalade, Brussels sprouts and walnuts.