Remember when I said that my brain doesn’t always work right?
One of its fun idiosyncrasies is its ability to instantly forget useless bits of information. As in: I just watched this great movie and I’ve already forgotten who was in it.
Give me a couple of months and I can forget all the major plot points too. (Ira’s brain does the complete opposite which makes me appear freakishly weird to him at times. Okay most of the time.)
So when my sweetie mentioned that he might have to work late last night, that little factoid swiftly exited my grey matter.
And when I got to planning dinner, I had completely forgotten that conversation altogether.
Homemade pizza. Yes. I made the crust from scratch. AND there was a special trip to the grocery store for 2 links of jalapeño sausage (from the butcher case) and a crisp red bell pepper. Oh, and: grilled red onions, pesto sauce (from Trader Joe’s), sliced heirloom tomatoes, pepper Jack and feta cheeses, and crushed red pepper flakes.
Halfway through the grilling of the onions, my sweetie sent me a text message that he was going to be really late and not to wait up.
That meant that I would be the ONLY ONE that got to really experience the beautiousness of this pizza.
To say it was deLISHous is not hyperbole. It was Oh-my-God-yummy. And when you put it altogether with the chilled pino grigio I had stashed in the fridge — well, what can I say? The 2 and 1/2 hours I spent on it, was really worthwhile.
The weird thing was, I had to enjoy this meal all by myself.
And I don’t think I’ve ever — in my life — spent so much time preparing a meal that was meant only for me.
And then I wondered, “Why-freaking-not?”
Am I not worth the trouble? Of course I am. (I can’t be the only one who does this, right?)
So I sat there and savored every morsel. Chewed slowly and let the individual flavors roll around on my tongue. Sipped my wine and contemplated the meaning of life…(If a pizza rocks in your mouth, but there’s no one around to share the experience, did it really happen?)
Then I thought at least my man would take the leftovers with him for lunch the next day. And even though the pizza might not be quite as spectacular, he would certainly be able to share the beauty of that pizza with me.
As it happened, he turned down my offer since he had a previous lunch date with a colleague. And there wasn’t enough for two.
So here I am now — repeating my zen pizza moment alone. Wondering why I felt the need to have someone else validate my creation.
The bright side of not sharing is that there’s more for me. How lucky am I?!
I’m not sure what percentage of my vast and diverse heritage could be considered Irish, but if last night’s pizza and my freckles are any indication, I should have enough pull with the Leprechauns to pull off my first-ever Corned Beef and Cabbage dinner tonight.
And if Ira has to work late, oh well.