Food Holiday

So, what day is it? Friday. Right. After Thanksgiving. Yesterday evening, after some novel-reading and an aggressively long and fast walk in the cold rain to try and startle my lower back into hurting less (nothing out of the ordinary, but harder to bear that day), Der Mann went out with a grocery list of food we needed and the intention of purchasing our Thanksgiving frozen pizzas. Our town is quite a distance from the nearest real grocery store, and when he got there he found it shut for the holiday. I think that’s a good thing–fair to the employees–but somehow we end up trying buy something there every Christmas and Thanksgiving; we never remember their holiday closure policy from one to the next. They’re union. It’s a regional franchise.

Der Mann went on down the highway to Safeway. I have many food allergies, so there is only one kind of pizza I can eat: the Super Yucky brand. And Safeway stocked only the yuckiest permutation of the Super Yucky brand. Because he’d had to go so far, there wasn’t time to shop for normal groceries, just the pizzas.

While Der Mann was baking his own pizza, I denuded mine of frozen soy cheese and frozen pureed spinach by chiseling at it with a sharp slotted spoon (while swearing and raving), smeared the soggy, pasty crust with olive oil, baked it by itself to give it some backbone, then put on my own tomato sauce, covered it with real mozzerella, and baked it again. The irony was that I had proposed frozen pizza because I was too tired to make one from scratch. Frozen pizzas aren’t a habit with us. In fact, I think the last time we had them was on moving day, back in March, when I said: “Well, aren’t these Super Yucky pizzas a waste of money. I won’t bother with them again.”

It was okay, although I oversalted the sauce.

While we ate, we watched an episode of the 1978 All Creatures Great and Small series on the computer, which had confused and alarmed me the few times I encountered it as a small child.  You can watch it as a “view instantly” selection through netflix.  The overacting and the whole repetitive up-the-cow-butt thing tickles me somehow.

Der Mann and I spend our Thanksgivings thankful that we don’t have to spend them with our relatives. Or is a spouse a relative? Now I think I will put the weaving news in a separate post, so I can delete this one later if I regret it.