Many of you may have looked at this blog wondering why it goes by the name of "boiled pizza." This wonderment would make a lot of sense, seeing as when I happened upon the actual dish of boiled pizza, I was in awe myself.
Now when I created this blog, I was trying to think of all kinds of clever and unique names. I thought of a few, one of which was 7 of 9. This, of course, because I'm the 7th of 9 children and I thought the name unique. However, when I googled "7 of 9," I found that a character on the Star Trek Voyager went by such a name, and, well I got rid of the name idea very quickly.
As a senior in high school, there were three kids left in my parents' home. Me, the oldest of the three, and my younger sister and brother. Because my mom and dad were used to cooking and buying for a large family, we always seemed to have leftovers in the fridge. However, since we all grew-up in a big family, we weren't used to eating the leftovers. This put us in the predicament of lots of food going bad.
Now my father is a great cook. He can make the juiciest London broil steak, the most satisfying salad, the creamiest clam chowder, and the most delectable eclairs with professional, chef-like ease. He's extremely creative and talented. He started cooking at a young age for his family and he's gotten better and better over the years. Usually on Sunday he would prepare dinner and typically the meal was a real treat.
This Sunday wasn't any different than another. "Don't fill up too much on breakfast," dad warned us, "I'm working on making an excellent lunch." As lunchtime approached, we could smell a splendid Italian aroma filling the air as we heard dad cutting food, stirring mixtures, and taste-testing his creation. By the time he called us to the kitchen, we were very hungry and had high expectations.
"What did you make?" we asked.
"Just try it," he answered. And we weren't a bit apprehensive, that is, until we saw the dish. My sister was served first, then me.
"What is this?" I inquired as I looked into the pot. It looked like nothing dad had created before. "Is this the pizza from a week or so ago?"
"...uh...yes."
"That pizza was kind of old."
"Don't worry. I boiled it within an inch of its life," dad explained, hoping to assure us that he had taken all precaution to rid the food of any possible bacteria or mold.
"What?" we all responded, "You cut up and boiled the leftover pizza!?!" Looking closer, I noticed the other ingredients, "And that's the leftover chicken from yesterday and the pasta dinner from a while back."
This was when mom came into the kitchen and voiced her surprise, "You boiled the old pizza? And now we're eating it?" My sister looked up from her plate and stopped eating. "We can't actually consume this," mom continued, "We've got to throw it away. In fact, we've got to throw the pot that it was cooked in away." Dad was shocked that none of us, not even mom would support him with his creative, mix-all-the-leftovers dish. He had made things from leftovers before, but he had never gone as far as boiling baked food. He must have seen the humor in the situation because he began to laugh. We all did. If you could have been there in the kitchen that day, you would have laughed too. My sister sitting in unbelief that she had actually swallowed some of the stuff. My brother eating the only prepared lunch item dad hadn't pulled from the fridge, frozen spinach. Mom looking at dad, still, in unbelief. And I, staring at the mixture in the pot.
We ended up having toast for lunch that day and threw away the deceivingly aromatic dish.
So that's why this blog is named "boiled pizza," because I'm positive this story and the name is unique, plus, just thinking about it makes me smile. Thanks Dad for sanitizing the dish through boiling, but thanks mom for insisting we throw it away.
Today, I wore the sweater to work. It's made of wool so it's nice and toasty, perfect for a fall walk outside. Much of the charm of the sweater is in the details. My grandma had her own tag (Hand Knit and Fashioned by) and just look at those buttons. 
