Competition

The last two nights my husband was in the kitchen starting supper before I got home from work. I'm not sure if this is some kind of protest to my latest adventures in cooking; neither of his meals included vegetables - unless you count pizza sauce. The first night it was out of necessity; he was leaving as I was walking in.

Last night he made pizza. He's made pizza three or four times in the past two weeks - on a quest to for the perfect pizza crust. A couple of weeks ago he found Wolfgang Puck's pizza recipe. It was very good, but not quite what he was looking for. One step is a keeper - coat the pizza crust with olive oil before adding the toppings. He's pretty sure he needs an oven that can get up to 700 degrees to make the crust he's envisioning. Side story: Last night we were watching Man vs Food on the Food channel and they were featuring the grossest hot dog I've ever seen (and they're pretty nasty to begin with). Anyway, they put the dogs in a steamer to melt the cheese without drying out the bun. So now along with the 700 degree oven he needs a steamer for his hoagies. I looked at him. "You have to have the right tools if you want to get the job done right!" Whatever, says the woman who has no qualms about pounding a nail to hang a picture with a screwdriver.

Maybe he's feeling a little competition now that I have an interest in being in the kitchen. That's ok. It's better than looking at each other asking, "What's for dinner?"