This week, while donning his apron in preparation for cooking, I heard Ben mumble under his breath, “Passing gas. It’s what chefs do.”
“Nope. No, they don’t,” I answered, though he had not phrased it as a question, more of a slogan akin to, “Beef. It’s what’s for dinner.” If you know Ben, you know that he laughed then, in that way that leaves you unsure of whether he is actually passing gas or just enjoying talking about it, apparently finding such conversation cafartic.
Somebody taught him the saying, “Now we’re cooking with gas,” and as with most idioms, Ben’s mind tends toward the literal. I recently heard him say that he had been fired from his job, which is untrue, having no formal employment and being in good standing with his volunteer positions. When I told him he wasn’t fired, he said, “I guess not. I’m not a dragon.” Given this, I’m pretty sure “cooking with gas” means something different to him than it does to us.
Our mission this week was stromboli. Ben packs a lunch at least 3 days a week, but we have a hard time managing bread supply for sandwiches. We have plenty of homemade sandwich-type pockets in the freezer, but he usually isn’t near a microwave for lunch. Our solution this week was to make two large strombolis, eat some slices fresh for our Ben’s Day Wednesday meal, and to use leftovers, delicious eaten cold, for lunches. I was proud of my solution, and thought, “Now we’re cooking with gas!” but Ben is a wily one. Monday, he conjured up a hot dog picnic at the creek, and Tuesday was his “eat out” day. I know he likes the stromboli, laden with meat that he chose, baked in homemade dough, so why am I sitting on a mountain of stromboli now in the fridge? I don’t know. Maybe it is just what happens when you’re cooking with gas.
You can find the stromboli recipe in our recipe index or in the link below.