Tuesday, 27 September 2016

Pizza night - seizing the moment


Pizza
'I want to make a pizza', said my son. 'Of course', said I, in another perhaps vain attempt to encourage my boy to take up an interest. He's tried many things in his short life so far, from football to karate, from chess to rugby. None have piqued his interest past the initial flurry of enthusiasm, the buying of the kit and those first few sessions. All hobbies require effort and commitment and he's a boy who thrives on fun. Not graft.


So cooking might actually become his forte, his thing I thought and who was I to stand in his way? No, I was determined to encourage, to support and after all I might be able to actually help with this one. I'm not much good at the maths or the science or even the football come to that, but cooking? I was sure I could help with that, it's something I do every day.
But, and a big but...it was Sunday night, supermarkets were closed and I didn't have any yeast. But ever resourceful and yet more tenacious I suggested went ahead minus the vital ingredient.

This, of course meant that the pizza base became a pastry case. My son, being as stubborn as me (he is his mother's son after all) and unaware that the base would be a flop, determined to do the toppings unaided. He chopped and he chopped and he chopped tomatoes - he chopped enough for ten pizzas, never mind the small, six inch base we eked out of the 3oz of butter I had spare. Soon the kitchen was covered and then out came the whisk. He whisked, he chopped. Tomatoes splattered the walls, the surfaces and my hands began to itch. When all the tomatoes were used he tired but we carried on - we covered the small base thickly in tomatoes - we didn't want to waste them, this has been his effort, his pizza after all, hadn't it? We found some pepperoni and lastly, a meagre grating of old cheese and we put it in the oven and we waited.

Now, I knew. I knew that a pastry case sodden with tomatoes and scattered with a grating of mouldy, old cheese wouldn't be nice but naively I hoped. I hoped he would like it just enough to try again one day. That's the trouble with being tenacious. You go on regardless, you ignore the likely outcome, you find ways to make something happen. But one splattered kitchen later, one uneaten, sodden pastry later, one hungry Sunday night later I learnt a lesson: Wait, plan, don't always seize the moment and above all, remember that bread needs yeast and a pizza is made from bread, not pastry.

1 comment:

  1. hmmm...how to interest a child in cooking? I want to learn how to myself.

    ReplyDelete