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November 06, 2007

1331: Lasagna and me.

Every now and then I decide that I'm going to make a big dish of lasagna for dinner and keep the leftovers for lunch(es). This always starts out decent-ish but quickly descends into crap, almost always due to my over-eager cheese application or my short attention span leading me to get distracted -- or, in this case, both.

I allowed myself to get, for whatever reason, distracted by an ancient episode of Top Model on TV in the next room and, in the process, screwed up the order of cheese-sauce-noodle layering. Not to blame Tyra, but this lasagna was doomed from the get-go because I had about three times as much cheese as I should have been using and I intended to use every bit of it. I love dairy like I love Morrissey, which is a frightening amount; I ought to be ashamed of both, such is the depth of my madness, but I'm too in love with either to experience shame. So, as Tyra berates girls for not "wanting it" enough, knowing their angles, or understanding how to "smile with your eyes," I piled cheese into this disordered lasagna with reckless abandon.

Pete is a good person, and he doesn't freak out when he comes home to find the fridge 80% full of wee, lasagna-stuffed containers. Nor does he freak out that, by default, he must ingest over-cheesed, vegetarian* lasagna for the next thirty years. Me... it's like some kind of food-making amnesia. I wake up the next day, open the fridge and, overcome by the sight of all this lasagna, want to scream. As soon as it's made, I stopped wanting it -- that's just life, n'est pas? Knowing that some small portion of it won't survive, and will get tossed out before it's eaten... it tests the human spirit. Burdened by food I made and no longer want, I am doomed to dispose of this crap in a way that, unlike my love of cheese and Morrissey (not together, of course), does induce feelings of shame.

I just ate the first container of this unwanted lasagna, or about 3/4 of it -- there's actually more cheese than even I can manage. I feel dismayed.

"Why did you make so much? Were you expecting Garfield?" Jon asked, when I explained that I had another 40 pounds of this crap waiting for me at home. He makes a good point -- why did I make so much? I think it's because the casserole dish I use is so grande, you know? Maybe if I had something more petite, the situation would be less dire. I don't know.

I think about it and then I find myself distracted by the fact that Garfield, a cat, eats lasagna.

Is that not... weird? Unnatural?

But then again, so is the amount of lasagna in my life.

* Look at the hell I put him through! His life has never had so much Morrissey or so little beef/chicken/fish/seafood/meatiness!

Posted by ashley at November 6, 2007 02:45 PM

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