Culinary Renaissance

Today I made a culinary-masterpiece of Renaissance proportions. It was a faux-pizza baked with wheat-flat bread, fresh mozzarella, Gorgonzola and various combinations of mushrooms with spinach or grilled chicken with sun dried tomatoes. I roasted garlic, tomatoes and onions and combined the ingredients on each flat bread with painful precision. I threw them in the broiler, crisped them up and put them on a plate.

I gave my step-father the first one. He said it smelled good and proceeded to take a large vat of sour-cream out of the fridge and then smeared the white stuff on top of the flat-bread. I won't tell you what this did to the color harmony. Did he even notice the paper-thin slices of tomatoes? Let me tell you folks, this was one damn sexy piece of food. Not only did he smear, he folded the flat-bread in half. Anyway, I let him slide because he is still fairly new in this country. Maybe he misconstrued these baked flat-breads as some form of quesadilla.

Then my mom and sister came home. I made them each their own, custom flat-bread. My sister was adversed to spinach so I made hers without it (even though I explained to her that the color of the finished product would be off—the green added such a nice contrast—she persisted that she didn't want spinach). No spinach, not that big a deal. Maybe then the sun dried tomatoes, which, by the way, have been infused with herb-seasoned olive oil, will have a stronger presence.

So, I broiled these bad-boys and when they're ready, I took them out, sliced them up and served them with pride. My mom took one look and loved my presentation. She loved it even more when she tasted it. Good—this stroked my ego. My sister took one look at it, walked over to the fridge and proceeded to take out a large vat of sour-cream. Now I don't know who influenced whom, but my sister was about to spread that sour cream all over my just-short-of-a-masterpiece (remember, no spinach). I became deeply insulted and had a little squabble over it, which ended with my saying, “Well, that's the last time I cook.”

Maybe I was a little over the top, but with the amount of money that I spent on food, I could have ordered two large pies and put gas in my car. But, I can't blame my family for not appreciating all the intricacies of my meal just because I got the urge to cook. I need to find a new audience.