Yesterday’s pizza was absolutely ruined, if you ask my daughter, by splotches of ricotta cheese. I remember Kina’s early solid food days, and how we would remark at her tolerance of new and exotic flavors—leafy greens, funky fish-saucey things, legumes of unknown provenance. Just a year later, we would find ourselves cajoling that same child to try “cheesy eggs” in an effort to keep at least two foods on the plate. She’s recovered slightly, and I no longer fear I’ll raise an adult who subsists only on pancakes (which, fine, if it works for you). Still—and I know I talk a lot about pizza—she does refuse to consider toppings on pizza, which she forces us to peel off and eat separately. So when last night’s pie arrived and she saw the ricotta on it, I tried to explain the fundamental similarities between the part of the pizza she likes the most (mozz) and the mystery ingredient she liked the least (ricotta), and that to eat them both together was an exciting opportunity—an position with which, upon further consideration, she found little common ground. We ended up wiping off the ricotta meticulously with our fingers, then she wiped the slice with a napkin and proceeded to eat through the slightly papery mozzarella from the top to the bottom (as described in an earlier edition).
As a little subscriber benefit, I will share with you the selfie in question, which was taken during a very serious and stressful call with like twenty other people—I counted seven of them smiling.
Off to the weekend with all of you. Let’s hope you all get to sleep in until 6:24 AM—or at least that we do. Let it gooooooooo