It's Monday night, even though I am not posting this until Tuesday, just go with it. But anyway, it's Monday night and I am eating leftover pizza for dinner. Not even leftover good pizza, but leftover frozen pizza. Tombstone Garlic Bread Pepperoni, if you must know. And I heat it up in the oven because reheating pizza in the microwave is just gross.
Uberman says I talk about food too much. On the blog, on Twitter, on Facebook. In person. I'm always talking about food. And I have only recently realized he is right.
But it's not like I'm a big foodie or anything, but more like a food confessor. I'm constantly saying things like "I just ate McDonald's and now I feel sick. Why'd you let me eat that?" or "Yeah, I'm eating a second donut, don't judge me."
I don't know why I feel the need to tell everyone what I am eating all the time. I think it's because I grew up in a family that judged people on the food they made. And if any of my family is reading this right now and shaking their heads in disagreement, you are liars and you know it. If it's not home made, if it doesn't contain the freshest ingredients, if it came from a box and you didn't add anything additional to it, it is not worthy to be eaten. Don't deny it, I am speaking the truth.
I have actually sat in the kitchen with my mom and my Aunties gathered around the table food gossiping.
"I won't eat that salad she makes because she uses bagged lettuce!"
"Did you know that cake she makes comes from a box but she swears it's a secret recipe?"
"We went to dinner at so and so's house and they had the audacity to serve us instant potatoes!"
Oh the horror!
My mother makes a lasagna that will make you cry it's so good. She brought one to me at work a few weeks ago so I could share the magic with all my coworkers. The Boy said if he is ever on death row, he wants my mom's lasagna as his last meal. How freaking cool is that? She grows and squeezes her own tomatoes (I could make jokes all day about that line), grows the herbs in her own garden, takes all day to make the sauce, busts out the pasta maker thingie and makes her own pasta, she is even making her own cheese now. Who does that? My mother, that's who. The only ingredients she doesn't make herself are the wine in the sauce and the sausage. But I wouldn't put it past her to try.
And she will probably never make me another one. (Thank God I still have one in the freezer!) She will probably disown me for bringing shame on her good name. Because I just admitted right here in front of God and everyone that I ate a reheated store bought frozen pizza for dinner. And I liked it.
My nose is itching. I think my Aunties are food gossiping about me. Or it could be the MSG in the pizza, who knows. Either way I feel sick. Why did you let me eat that?