perilousknits (perilousknits) wrote,

Mariachi Lasanga

There was a live Mariachi band at the grocery store yesterday. 

At first, I thought it was piped-in music, and said to myself, "This is nicer than the usual musak."  But I noticed it was getting louder as I moved closer and closer to the Butcher aisle.  Sure enough, there they were, standing between the cold-cuts and the chicken.  Playing some really great music.  But why were they there?

I had plenty of time to listen to them while I stood in front of the cheese display and tried to find affordable parmesan.  I had decided, ten years after copying the recipe out of Snorty Stompy's hand-written book of favorite recipes, that I should actually make some Lasagna ala SS.

It started with my mother.

The past year has been full of major life changes, strange reversals of fortune . . . and what would a year of surreality be if Narcissa did not also start acting contrary to her usual behavior?  In the past year she has surprised me with sudden unannounced wire transfers of money into my bank account, care packages, an ocassional self-help book for divorced women, cheerful greeting cards expressing that I am in her thoughts, and most recently, a Lasagna Pan.

{Also in the news -- I have a new roommate too; an SCA friend moved into the guest bedroom.  We shall call him the Jolly Baker.} 

Last week I came home from work one day to find that UPS had dropped off another care package from Narcissa.  The Snuffleupadon and Jolly Baker loomed over me to see what sorts of goodies I was getting, and when I pulled out the three-channel lasagna pan (designed so that each slice of lasagna has two nice crusty edges) they both said, "OOOOOoooo-Lasagna!"  And I realized I was going to have to make lasagna.

If she keeps this up, I'll have to stop calling her Narcissa.

So that is what brought me to the Mariachi-blessed grocery store on a Saturday afternoon.  I had a copy of the recipe in my hand and was trucking along buying up ingredients . . . Everything was going really well until I got to the cheese display.  You see, Snorty Stompy's lasagna recipe calls for two pounds of Parmessan.  Two.  Pounds.  of Parmessan.  I had forgotten that.  The first chunk of cheese I priced was ten dollars for six ounces.  I almost called SS on my cell phone to yell at him, but he never would have heard me over the Mariachi band.  Plus, you know, people would stare at me.

I did finally manage to get the required amount of cheese without selling a kidney, but it was still expensive.  Never mind, I can afford it.  Perhaps six months ago, I couldn't have done so.  And even now it's not the sort of thing I will do every month (unless next time I talk the boys into chipping in).  Still, lasagna is a luxury I thought I might never see again, yet it is in my oven right now, forming crusty edges as we speak.

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