Monday, August 20, 2012

Calamity at a Culinary Wedding

*Cooking a recipe is much like uniting certain ingredients in matrimony...they will become part of one another permanently, until "dinner do us part." But even marriages between foods aren't always perfect...*

Typically, the refrigerators at the cooking college aren’t places of particular excitement. But when I heard that my old friend, Ziti, was to be wed in Culinary Matrimony to a fine Mozzerella in a grand dish for a charity banquet, I was more than delighted. I was also honored when Ziti told me I was to be his Best Side—which only makes sense, since Ziti always would tell me, “Baguette, you and I have always been a great pair.”
But on that fateful evening, as the ovens fired up and I was preparing myself with a few dashes of garlic powder and some light butter, for the first time I got a glimpse of the lovely Mozzerella that Ziti was to wed. Yes, she looked quite appetizing, so pale and soft…and then I felt an uneasy feeling deep in my dough. Something did not seem right about her, and as I looked to the chef who was to bring Ziti and the Mozzerella together, I realized what it was.
Ziti was already readying himself in his sauna of boiling water, but I tried to whisper to him above the rapid boiling. “Psst, Ziti! There’s a big problem. The chef who is to marry you…he doesn’t check expiration dates on his ingredients.”
Ziti didn’t seem to hear me, so I tried to speak up. “Ziti, when I was purchased from the store, I was bought along with a package of Mozzerella that was on sale…she had told me in the grocery bag that she was on sale because she was going to expire in two days. That was almost a week ago. She’s expired!”
Ziti popped his hearing noodle above the water. “What? Did you say you’re tired?”
“No! Your Mozzerella is expired! If you marry, your dish will taste awful!”
“Why would marrying her be unlawful?”
But before I could try to tell him again, his pot was lifted off the stove and he was taken to the sink to have the water strained out. I only had a few moments left before Ziti was put in the baking dish, slathered in paste sauce and then poisoned with expired cheese…
Fortunately, my crust was hard enough to nudge a Mozzerella cheese wedge off of the countertop…
While I do feel bad for the cheese,  and for the berating that poor student chef got from his teacher for being clumsy and dropping good Mozzerella on the floor, at least Ziti and I were still the toast of the banquet, even though Ziti had to be wed to a substituted Parmesan…

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