Everything started with my attempt to practice in the kitchen while also being the lone set of eyes on James. It did not go well. Two of my mutes have dents in them, James knocked over all the music on my stand, bonked his head on my stand, stole my metronome, and dropped my B-flat trumpet on the floor, the third valve of which no longer works. By the time dinner came around he was in full-fledged mischief mode.
"James," I said "I don't think either of us want to eat minestrone soup."
I knew that James didn't want to eat minestrone soup. J made it last night, and he turned his nose up at it all night long. I ate mine because it was hot and good, and according to J, minestrone is one of my favorites. Except actually it isn't. I asked her last night what inspired her to make minestrone and she said "Because you love minestrone! Isn't this one of your favorite things that your mother makes?"
In her defense, "minestrone" does sound an awful lot like "chicken wings."
But I didn't say anything to her, because once you've been married for a number of years you learn that it's not a good idea to tell your wife that you aren't interested in whatever it is that she just spent the last hour and half preparing over a hot stove while looking after your hurricane-force son so that you can practice upstairs in your bathrobe. (Hint to newly married husbands: It's much better to tell her by letting her find out that you've written about it on the internet without saying anything at all to her.)
So there was leftover minestrone in the fridge, and James had stopped hurling books off of the bookshelves long enough to confirm to me that he was interested in what I was saying if there was some chance it might be about food.
"James, I think we both want a pizza, don't we?"
He nodded.
I should have stopped here. I should have remembered what happened the last time that I was home alone with James on a Saturday afternoon while J was at church and decided that I absolutely had to have a pizza even though I'd have to make the whole thing on my own from scratch with no help.
I thought through my situation. I knew that there was cheese in the freezer, and I knew that there was leftover sauce in the fridge. I would just need to come up with some sort of dough. It was already five o'clock, so it was definitely too late to attempt dough in the bread machine--besides, I wasn't eager to try that again after my last experience. What about flatbread pizza? I had flatbread pizza several times over the summer, and I thought it was very good. I looked through some recipes on my phone, and eventually switched to the idea of a "pita" pizza. The dough only called for four ingredients, and the internet guaranteed that it would be ready to eat in 20 minutes...that sounded great! It sounded just as good as those "one simple tricks that can reduce your car insurance to $.37 a day."
Meanwhile, James had tipped a glass of water all over the kitchen counter. I cleaned him up, mopped up the mess, moved away the chair that he'd pushed to the counter and told him to occupy himself in some non-destructive way while I made us a pizza.
To make a long story short, the dough ended up being a disgusting sticky mess about the consistency of Elmer's glue, only less tasty, that didn't knead, roll, cut, or do anything except stick and ooze to everything it touched. About ten minutes into the attempt I gave up on trying to roll out pitas and just dumped the remaining goo into a frying pan, washed my hands, and removed James from his perch on the chair that he'd scooched over the refrigerator, from which he'd removed every single magnet and picture and thrown it on the kitchen floor.
I managed to turn the goo into the world's ugliest pancake, and set James up in his high chair with green beans. I sprayed a pan, and stretched out the pancake as best I could, then went to retrieve the sauce and cheese. And when I pulled out the sauce, I found out it was leftover quinoa spaghetti, and not pizza sauce. Thankfully there was cheese in the freezer, so at that point I had ugly pancake with cheese on top.
In six years of marriage I am yet to figure out J's system of freezer storage. Every month she neatly packs our freezer full of groceries, and it shuts without any trouble. If I open the freezer and remove an item, I can put that item back in the exact same spot it came from only seconds earlier, and it either won't fit (how is this possible, since I was removing ice cream sandwiches from the container?) or multiple other items will shift and collapse, and then refuse to go back into their spots. So J, if you do decide to come home after reading this blog, be careful when you open the freezer. I only just managed to slam the door shut in time, and I'm quite certain that the next person who opens the door is going to take a bag of frozen peas to the foot.
I was feeling rather defeated as I waited for the oven to preheat. I was also feeling rather hungry, so I had a bowl of leftover minestrone soup. It was exceedingly delicious, and much healthier than pizza. James, who still thought he was going to get real pizza when I was finished, continued to express his excitement at end result. When the oven preheated I had no idea how long to bake a pizza that size, so I started with six minutes and then kept on adding an extra minute or two until the cheese looked brown. James was so excited when I took it out. I cut him off a few pieces, blew on them to cool them off, and gave him one. He chewed it thoughtfully, and then I asked him if he wanted another.
That means "I think you should eat it instead."
I did, and it tasted like undercooked Elmer's glue with cheese on top.
So here's what I propose: This blog is a national resource, often receiving extravagant praise from top critics. I've even heard that my regular entries are "the best thing on the internet since this." I'm asking you, if you're reading this, to support my blogging by donating gift cards to local pizzerias. All gift cards can be sent to "Fabricor Consonvs Pizza Drive" at 749 Washington Street, Spencerport, NY 14559. If you benefit from this blog in any way, please consider supporting it by making a one time gift card donation. And not only do we need one time donations, but we are looking for sustaining members of Fabricor Consonvs who would be willing to get us pizza on a regular basis. Whether it's weekly, biweekly, or even just once a month, your effort will be felt and truly appreciated. I'd also like to make you aware, if you're reading this, that for a limited time we have a matching gift. There is a generous and anonymous almost-two-year old who has pledged that he will eat just as much pizza as I do for at least the next sixteen years, so don't wait...send in your pizza pledges today.
Because seriously, James was really disappointed tonight.
Every time I read this I laugh so hard I cry. That picture of James is priceless. Perhaps your best entry EVER in the HISTORY of Fabricor.
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