We have pizza at least once a week here at the Mansion. Usually it's from the deli at The Devil's Playground, where Farmer H likes the thin crust three-meat version. Sometimes we have the Save A Lot supreme. I don't really like the crust, but they are generous with the thick pepperoni, which I take off my half and put on Farmer H's half, helping myself to his red, green, and yellow peppers. Yes. You read that right. My half, and his half. We are big pizza eaters.
The Save A Lot version is what we had Wednesday night. It's really gigantic. Normally, we each have a fourth, and save it for the next night. Farmer H was feeling a bit peckish, though, having only eaten a snack instead of lunch while working on the $5000 house. When I took out that mammoth pizza and set it on the cutting block to cool, I asked how many pieces he wanted it cut into.
This pizza has thicker crust, and I can't get it crispy, even on my holey pizza pan. So it flops when you pick it up. Farmer H said he wanted his half cut into 8 pieces. Which made them maybe two inches wide at the crust edge. I hate cutting pizza. The pan is curved, and I can't get the crust to come apart unless I rock the knife blade and go over it several times. Even when I DON'T leave the cardboard on the bottom when I cook it. I've tried my regular curved giant butcher knife, and my ceramic knife that's really sharp. It still takes multiple tries.
Of course I'm not one to bottle up my feelings when it comes to letting Farmer H know how much I resent doing things he could do for himself. I was rassen-frassen about how tired I was of cutting pizza over the last 30 years. He had wandered into the kitchen, as he is wont to do, right before I'm ready to call for him. So he's underfoot, gabbing at me, while I'm trying to do something.
"Since you're hovering and salivating like a dog [Pavlov would be lost on Farmer H], here! The knife. Do it yourself."
I had cut the pizza in half already, down the middle demarcation of pepperoni or peppers. I'd also cut Farmer H's side in half again, and divided one part of that into four pieces. My hand was tired of sawing at it. I held the knife out, and Farmer H took it.
"Okay."
I turned away to dump out my bubba cup and await fresh ice from FRIG II when Farmer H was out of the way. Oh. He WAS out of the way, heading into the living room with his pizza. My half still sat on the cutting block. Uncut.
"Oh. Well. I guess you didn't bother to cut up my pizza for me."
"Huh. To tell you the truth, I didn't even think about it."
EXACTLY. That's my point.
You cut the pizza while it is still in the pizza pan? I take mine off the holey pan and onto a chopping board, much easier to hack it apart that way. You could do that and try my daughter's method, she cuts pizza with big kitchen shears, the ones usually used for cutting up barbecued chickens. I use my giant cleaver which goes almost all the way across in one go, so two movements to cleave it in half then just one movement to cleave each slice.
ReplyDeleteYou didn't really expect Farmer H to cut your half did you? Not without you being explicit, "While you're cutting would you do my half too please?"
try kitchen scissors. they might work ;)
ReplyDeleteRiver,
ReplyDeleteI have kitchen shears, but they're not all that long. About the size of regular scissors. I don't have a board that big, unless I put it directly on the cutting block, which means I'd have to clean off the cutting block. It seems to collect bags of chips and jars of salsa and assorted cans or jars awaiting the pantry after the last shopping trip.
I don't know what I was thinking! You know what happens when we assume...
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yevisha,
I never thought about that, but apparently I'm the only one! While typing that, the image of one of those rolly pizza cutter thingies popped into my head. So thanks! Now I have another possible solution.