I made a new dinner the other night for my dear wife. We had been having a great day of relaxing, after all, it was Sunday. A lazy Sunday afternoon, is there anything better? I contest that there are few things that are. Well, it was one of those Sunday afternoons, but the afternoon was receding, and the evening was soon approaching. I decided that my wife should get the chance to relax, so I would make dinner. It had been a long week.
So, I went to the kitchen, and soon decided on a frozen pasta that we had purchased from Sam's Club. We would have purchased it as Cosco, which we both prefer, but the nearest one is far to long of a drive. So, I took the pasta out of the oven, and read the instructions. Two hours in the oven. ok. "Hey sweetie, how hungry are you? Not very? Could you wait two hours until dinner? Ok, then I will bake this pasta."
The baking began. Periodically I checked on the pasta, and it all seemed to be going ok. The time was drawing nigh, and I suddenly realized that I was supposed to take the foil off the top when there was ten minutes left for it to bake. I quickly went into the kitchen, and started to try and get the foil off. I apperently did a very good job of getting it on when I put it is the oven, so I slid the cookie sheet that the pasta was on out a bit so I could get a better grip. The foil was infact attached far to well for my purposes, but the added tug I gave the foil was sufficent to change the center of gravity of the cookie sheet. Yeah, you guessed it, the whole thing came spilling down onto the oven door. I saved what I could for dinner, but my emotional state was beyond repair by anything but time.
So, from hence forth and forever, lasagna will no longer be called by that name in my home, It will be called Oven Door Pasta.
