So I’m not really a good cook. That’s not a judgment, merely stating fact. I guess it’s not so much that I’m a bad cook, just an infrequent one. Kind of like saying I’m a bad scuba diver. I really wouldn’t know either way.
And much like a novice diver, who gets stung by the occasional jellyfish, from time to time I feel the pain of straying too far into the culinary depths without a guide. This time, it was pizza that got me.
I can’t really get into too many of the details because this project is all part of a get-rich-quick-so-I-can-stop-searching-monster-for-jobs-every-freaking-four-hours-of-every-freaking-day plan. I have a vision for a new product that is going to revolutionize how people eat out. And I have a brilliant name for it as well. Both must remain under wraps, but I can tell you that it involves pizza.
I’ve roped my friend Natasha into this scheme, mainly because she has the week off before she starts her new job. And because she, too, shares my vision. Unfortunately, she’s not a good cook either.
We decided to do some test runs of my new product, so I hit the Jewel in search of all the key ingredients: Cheese. Sauce. Pepperoni. Dough.
I tried to find the little Chef Boy-Ar-Dee boxes of pizza dough because that’s what Nat recommended. Found cornbread and pie crust mixes, but no pizza dough. Then I hit the frozen aisle, and found a big bag containing three frozen balls of dough. Nat was going to come over yesterday to test this out, so I let them thaw out on the counter. Plans changed, she got home too late, so I put the dough back in the refrigerator so we could make the pizza today.
This morning when I got up to eat my usual breakfast, I opened up the fridge, grabbed some cake, and shut the door. You know how sometimes you see something out of the corner of your eye, but it takes a few minutes to register in your brain? Well, that’s what happened to me after I took two steps into the dining room. I put the cake down, went back to the refrigerator, and opened it up to find what appeared to be an episode of “I Love Lucy” being filmed in my kitchen.
The bag of dough had expanded to at least five times its normal size – I’m not kidding – it was the size of a bed pillow. Apparently, you can’t just put dough in the refrigerator – it must remain frozen at all times until the moment you’re about to pop it into the oven. Sure it says “Keep Frozen” in big blue letters on the bag, but who really thinks you have to read instructions for dough? The bag had ripped open at the seams, and gooey pizza dough had oozed out all over my freshly cleaned refrigerator.
I promised Nat that I would keep the dough-beast alive long enough for her to see it before I put it out of its misery. She’s on her way over with a box of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee dough right now. I may need to keep searching monster.com for that dream job…

Filed under: General on June 22nd, 2004