Jim Siergey: The Pizza Caper

July 16th, 2017

The wife came home with a pizza from Costco. If you’ve ever been to Costco, you can guess how large it was.

It was the size of a wheel from a conestoga wagon. If we had three more we could head out west over the great prairie.

It was a cheese pizza so we decided to doctor it up. I went out back to our bit of a herb garden and plucked off a big handful of basil leaves. Then I sliced up a few tomatoes.

I also sliced a bit of my finger, which was to be expected, as I am an accident waiting to happen, but it was only a nip. However, I did need a band aid and the only one I could find was a purple one.

I felt like Crockett Johnson’s Harold.

Despite my wound, I arranged the basil and tomato slices upon the vast cheeseness of the manhole cover-sized pizza, thus transforming it into (Voila!) a margherita pizza. Since it was large and floppy, my wife, to be on the safe side, took over for me and deftly inserted it onto the grate that extended from the gaping maw of the oven and closed the door.

I, being the more mathematical minded one in our partnership, set the timer.

The minutes ticked by and when the timer sounded I rushed to the oven and opened the door to check on how our dinner looked. It looked good. Its edges were golden brown and the bottom was firm but not over-baked.

I pulled out the grate it sat upon, grabbed the piece of cardboard that had accompanied it and using a fork to guide it, successfully slid it upon the board, as I had done so many times with so many pizzas before.

haroldandthepurplecrayon

I felt just like Harold…

 

Now all I had to do was transfer it to the counter top that was a foot away and a foot and half higher in elevation.

Halfway through the process the cardboard, being of an inferior quality, began to bend under the weight of the steaming hot disc. This caused the steaming hot disc, that is to say, the pizza, to slide off and despite my attempts to alter the situation, head straight for the floor.

Fortunately, it landed bottom-side down but half of the gargantuan pie folded over onto itself. In my efforts to pick it up, it slid around even more and a few more cracks appeared, making it look like a miniature earthquake had hit it.

I was finally able to scoop it up and plop it onto the evil cardboard that sat, haughtily, upon the counter. I then proceeded to clean up the still steaming tomatoes and bits of cheese that lay upon the floor.

I did all this, if you recall, with a bandaged finger. If nothing else, I’m a trooper. In this case, a trooper scooper.

I then turned my attention to mending the wounded pizza. I unfolded it and attempted to rearrange it but it was to no avail. It was the ugliest pizza I had ever laid eyes on.

There was a section that still looked like a margherita pizza, with undisturbed tomatoes and basil with cheese that hadn’t seismically shifted. These two slices I gallantly served to my wife.

The rest of the pizza wasn’t much to look at. Tomato slices and basil leaves were gone. Cheese had slid around and off the crust even taking with it much of the tomato sauce. (The floor got most of this)

It looked like a shaved poodle.

If one only ate what looked good, one would go hungry, wouldn’t one? So, I ate what I could aesthetically stomach and used half a bottle of wine with which to wash it down.

Let us now never speak of this again.

 

Editor’s note: Jim’s last post for The Third City was Stellaaaaaa

 

 

2 Responses to “Jim Siergey: The Pizza Caper”

  1. Dan Campion says:

    Pieoneers, O Pieoneers, your pizza-wheeled wagons West
    Leave fragrant trails of Mozzarella, tangy sauce, fresh basil
    Lovingly tended, harvested, and sliced, from home gardens faithfully Maintained back East as you dream’d of the vast Prairie.
    Pieoneers, O Pieoneers, thy paths, empurpled by blood shed in
    Preparation for the Trek, marked thoughtfully by flecks of Cheese
    To guide the next wave of Conestoga wagons shod by Costco Frozen
    Pizzas, thy paths that cost both so little and so much, converge
    On that great Continental Divide where half get Olives, half do not,
    But all, all who travel on this Road of Dough perceive their Wagon Wheels to soften like Dali’s watches in a Wilderness of heat and steam,
    Then firm up again, to golden crispness, in the arid deserts of Darien,
    And carry them, with suitable libations, along the Great Circuit of Pi.
    We will not speak of this again, but sing: Pieoneers, O Pieoneers.

  2. siergey says:

    Dan, I tip my toque to thee.

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