Saturday, September 18, 2010

The Brownie Saga

The modestly-sized Tea Event Hall is filled to the max, chair-to-chair. All eyes are fixed intently on the VIP speaker of the night, speechifying from his podium at the front of the room. Like the rest of the room, I'm focused on the guy, too. So focused that I almost don't notice my pocket is buzzing.

I discreetly glance downward as I pull the phone out just far enough to see it's a call from home. I momentarily consider stepping out to call them back, just in case. Keep in mind, "home" meant the call was either from Jonathan, Sam, Hannah or Tabby. This could be a call from anything from they want us to bring them ice cream when we come home to someone fell down the stairs. I decided, eh, if they only call once, it's probably nothing serious.

Five minutes later...*buuuuzzzzzz.* My friend noticed it, too, and asked if it was home again. When I nodded we both sported some pretty quizzical looks. Nah, I decided. I'll call back when the guy's done speaking.

I got back into focus mode and continued to listen. Five minutes later, I hear a really obnoxious ringtone tune echo throughout the entire room, or so it seemed. I'm thinking, what idiot forgot to put their phone on silent? was Mom's phone! I immediatley leaned across the table and quietly asked Mom if it was a call from home. When she nodded I figured she would probably want to know that they'd already called me twice. We both went into mildly concerned mode and asked Dad to step out and call them back, just in case.

"It's probably Sam asking if he can make popcorn," Dad scoffed. "Please?" Mom asked. "What if something happened?"

Reluctantly, Dad exited the room in the middle of the speech. Yes, there were stares from condescending attendees. But Dad loves us that much.

I wasn't as able to concentrate on the speaker for the next five minutes, with thoughts of what in the world they could be calling about running through my head. Dad finally came back in, with an impossible-to-read expression on his face. He sat down quietly next to Mom and whispered something to her. All I caught was, "You'd probably laugh if I told you."

At least I had a sense of relief now, knowing it was nothing serious. But my curiosity remained unsatisfied. I patiently waited for the speaker to finish his speech (which was a good speech, by the way...not to take anything away from it).
He finished, there was thunderous applause and standing, and the moment finally arrived.

"Dad, what was it?" I asked immediatley. Dad chuckled to himself as he leaned across the table. Moment of truth!

"You're going to laugh," Dad said. "It was Jonthan asking if he could frost the brownies."

Something important to note: Jonathan is 18 years old.
Ok, back to the story: I had made brownies earlier that afternoon, but hadn't had time to frost them before we left for this dinner. Jonathan apparently could not wait until we came home to a) have me frost them or b) ask then or, heaven forbid, c) frost them without asking.

So we all have a good laugh about how ridiculous this was in the first place, let alone coming from an 18 year old. We part ways for the night and drive home as we ponder how big a mess Jonathan may or may not have made of the brownies. Since dessert had not been served at the dinner, we were looking forward to them.
We get back home to find Jonathan sitting at the kitchen counter glued to his computer, surrounded by the younger chillins. We give him a hard time about the stunt he pulled before going straight to the specimen.

"They're in the freezer," Tabby declares. She also gave a fun back story about how Jonathan almost broke the glass container the frosting had been in trying to mix it and almost knocked it off the counter. I asked Jonathan if he was glad he had Tabby to tell us these things. He didn't answer.

The freezer? Why are the brownies in the freezer?

"The frosting was runny," Johnny said. "So I put the brownies in the freezer."
Now, the frosting should not have been runny. I made it myself. All he had to do was mix it up a bit with the beater before putting it on the brownies. Apparently someone stuck it back in the freezer (I'd taken it out to thaw before we left). Also, apparently Jonthan added milk to it. And it must've been quite a generous helping, too, because the frosting was practically liquid! Mom and I laughed out loud when we pulled the pan out of the freezer and got our first look at the pool of frosting on top.

We figured it was at least still edible. So...I begin to cut them. Or, try to, I should say. It was hard as a rock. When we FINALLY, between me and my brother Sam, got the brownies cut (and a sprained wrist), we dug in. The funniest part of the frosting was once the first piece was taken out, the river of runny frosting oozed over the side.

It was a good laugh, though. And at least it still tasted good.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Pizza Toppings

I’m not a very picky person. In fact, there are few things in life that I won’t try at least once.

This holds true for food, too. I’ll give anything one shot. On the flip side, if left to my own devices, I’d probably be able to count the variety of my cuisine on my own two hands. I stick to what I know unless prompted in a different direction, but when that happens, hey, why not?

That being said, pizza is a whole new ballpark. I won’t budge on olives. Olives or pepperoni. Pizza is a tricky area. You can put just about anything on pizza, so when someone asks me what toppings I like, I’ve figured out that I can’t say “almost anything.” Where pizza is concerned, anything could literally mean anything. I will eat most of the normal toppings, however. Of the normal toppings, I will usually say the only one I don’t like is pepperoni.

After lunch today, I expanded my list of pizza don’ts to pepperoni and olives. Granted, I knew going into my pizza (literally) that I did not like olives. I thought I’d be polite, however, and eat it anyway. Besides, I’d never had olives on pizza before. Sometimes I like things I don’t think I will.

A valuable lesson has been learned. Not only that I don’t like olives on pizza, but also that I can be polite and express my opinion. Next time someone asks me if I like olives on pizza, I will politely respond “no thank you.” Sometimes it's just worth the risk of offending someone...politely.

It’s ok to have an opinion. In fact, I’ve found that most people prefer that to going with the flow so much that you almost cease to exist. If you want to push against the flow because it’s your honest opinion, do it! But politely, of course;). I think I may be working on that lesson until the day I die, but I can start with pizza.