Misters Pesto and Marinara

Misters

Pesto and Marinara

Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara hang out on the town. "Let's go tussle with some pasta," says Mister Pesto. "Right," says Mister Marinara. The summer breeze drifts across the open oven range. Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara hustle on to the counter. They chubby legs step, one two, one, two. These basil brothers nonchalantly hobble over to the cupboard panty. "Hey there," says Mister Marinara. He leans his elbow up on a box of pasta, looks down the avenue. "It's Penne, your main swing," says Mister Marinara. Mister Pesto nods. He asks Mister Marinara, " Who are you going with this evening? Will it be Lasagna again?" Mister Marinara scoffs. "I'm not going with that broad." Penne slouches up to Mister Pesto. "Let's hit the night," she says. Mister Marinara seems sulky. He doesn't have a date yet. He searches the avenue for another pasta to go with. Vermicelli- too tall. Fettucine- too flat. Elbow- too cutesy. Bow tie- well... it could be done. Shell- too small. Mister Marinara sulks even more. Penne looks over at him from the crook of Mister Pesto's arm. "I'll call up my sister Rigatoni."

Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara, along with their dates, stroll along the table. Something white comes into view in the distance. Mister Pesto peers closer. He waves. Mister Marinara peers closer. He becomes upset. It is Alfredo. With Fettucine, his date. Mister Marinara looks away. "Let's book it out of here," he says. Mister Pesto brushes off the statement. He is friends with Alfredo. But Mister Marinara is the arch nemesis of Alfredo. They don't get along. Mister Marinara can be short-tempered at times. Mister Pesto and Mister Marinara continue their walk; so does Alfredo. They meet up. Mister Marinara tries to stare down Alfredo. Alfredo has no problem, he plays it cool. "Hey my brothers," says he. "I'm out for a recovery stroll t'night. I got mixed up with some vegetables- a bad crowd. I have to get my priorities straight, so here I am with my girl Fettuccine." Misters Pesto and Marinara nod. Mister Marinara speaks, "I got to go to the cheese drawer. Either Mozzarella or Parmesan is expecting me and Rigatoni. I'll catch up with you two later." He walks off. "I have a feeling its the end of the road for him," says Mister Pesto. "You were lucky you got out alive, Alfredo." Mister Pesto and Alfredo take their dates home, then return to their jars in the fridge. They are some saucy lads.

The Brand

TAp-TAp. The sound of metal on metal. The tines of the fork scrape against the baking pan. All is silent for a moment. Then-- it is time. The sugar coated fork is lowered, and pressed deep into the flesh of the cookie, branding it with deep ridges. Then again, the fork is lowered and pushed crosswise against the skin. A silent murmur is whispered in the crowd. What is this, you ask? Some primeval torture ceremony? No, it is the INITIATION. The time when every young raw peanut butter cookie becomes an adult, ready for the rough and tumble of the heat of the oven. The peanut butter cookies are known for their primitive traditions. They are also known for inbreeding, as they often marry their cousins. No one knows where these rituals originated, but some regard them as cruel practices.

Some people tend to eat their peanut butter cookies untouched by the fork. They think that they are saving the cookie from pain and torment, when, in actuality, they are simply worsening the situation. You see, the branding is a sort of bond between cookies. When the branded encounter the untouched, a dreadful sort of thing happens. Its called cannibalism. Have you ever noticed that your cookie supply (any type of cookie; unfortunately, this practice is common) runs out very very very fast? They've been eating themselves. It's quite the only rational reason. If its not true... That means there are quite a few gluttons around these parts. Gluttons that congregate around cookies. Whatever, man. I don't buy that.

Peanut Butter Cookies use the brand as their trademark. Without the crosshatching, all you have is a common brown cookie. The brand is a part of the peanut butter cookie identity. Here's what one cookie had to say about the ceremony, right before he was shoved in the oven:

"It was the most exhilirating thing. I'd been looking forward to coming of age ever since I was rolled in sugar. As the fork pressed into me... it was very very painful. I felt my nonexistent spine cracking. But now I am an adult cookie! That was a make me or break me time and I made it! Congratulate me! Now, I am a real peanut butter cookie. Bring on the heat!"

The initiation ceremony is the most important part of a peanut butter cookie's life. It teaches endurance, discipline, strenght, and compassion to a raw cookie. Its more than just a fancy baking thing. Its a way of life.

The Schism

A History of the Outrageous Chocolate Chip Cookie Schism

For some reason, cookies seem to be a tad testy these days. I made some of these Outrageous Chocolate Chip Cookies, which are just chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter and oatmeal. I rolled half of the dough into balls ready to be placed on the baking sheet. I left the other half unrolled. I went away for a little while, and when I returned, it was pandemonium.

The dough had segregated itself. The rolled dough was piled all on one side of the dough and the other dough was just sitting there. Both sides had the frown, glares, and surliness down, and the angry eyebrows to boot. Outrageous. They were absolutely refusing to associate with each other, despite the fact that they came from the same ingredients. I tried to be a mediator, but they would not listen. Rolled dough boasted of their obvious superiority. Their figure was classy and sophisticated. "Spheres are the most amazing of all 3D shapes," they said. They were cultured. They were educated. They were round. They were pro-active. They were ready for business. "oho-ho-ho," replied the unrolled dough, in unison. "That means nothing. We here on our side are in harmony. We are all one and the same; no differences between us. We are a community. We are ready to support one another." Here one of the rolled balls of dough tried to fling himself at the blob of dough and tried to attack, but his cronies restrained him. They only said, "Support? Ha! We know support! We can form our corp into a pyramid and then back down. HA!" The unrolled dough group only deepened their frowns. They tried to turn their back to the balls, but to no avail. They were too sticky. The balls were so compact, however, that they were successfully able to turn their backs to the plosh of unrolled dough. The unrolled dough sent out agents to steal the chocolate chips of the other side. The balls of dough would occasionally moon the other side, leading to shrieks of indignation. I think it would have escalated to all-out war. But I had to stop it before something drastic happened. So I baked the cookies, and then helped to eat them. And that was the end of that.

Little Mister Seal Fish

Oh! Little mister seal fish swims across the sea! He ducks and dives and pirouettes and does all sorts of fancy things. Let me ride upon your back mister seal fish! We will swim everyone, and you will swim faster than any other seal fish out there! You will not have to live in fear of carnivorous mister polar bear, like other seals. Your life will be one of the deep sea, and dances in the ocean blue. Oh! Little mister seal fish!

Evie's Foodfilled Face

This photograph is too cute not to share. Evie was super hungry and she had a dishful of food to fill her cheeks with. And the result is adorableness!

Milk's Inbox

My Dearest Milk,

Over the past few minutes, I have found that I am nothing without you. I thought I was a great sandwich, but in the shadow of your liquid volume, I have found that I have nothing to offer. I am dry and sticky. I am not half the food that I am with you. You wash me down, leaving the best of the taste I have to offer. Oh, Milk, I cannot survive without you. Those days when I go without seeing your foaming white beauty, I am limp and sad. But when you are with me, I feel like a whole new sandwich! I love you, Milk, and I never want to go another day without you.

Fondly, PB&J



Oh Milk,

I cannot begin to describe my life without you. I come out of the oven, hot and gooey, and extremely uncomfortable. You are right there waiting for me. I would burn the mouth if not for you. You bring out the best in me. I have shown you nothing but loyalty and faithfulness, dear Milk. I do not go out with Water, or Lemonade. Because I know that we are meant to be. I know it. My dark facial features with your pale, fairness. We are quite a pair, no? Let's keep it that way. You are more than a friend. You are a soulmate.

Love, ChocolateChipCookie

Hey Milk!

Buddy, I just want to tell you how much you mean to me. I'm sort of a hard and crunchy character, but you soften my edges. My dry sense of humor and your great-all-around personality- we make one great team! I love it when you and I and all our other friends like Cheerios and Raisin Bran and Lucky Charms and granola get together and bond in one big bowl. I think you're just plumb nice milk!

Your friend, HoneyBunchesofOats

Milk:

Be at the counter tomorrow, 8:14 PM sharp. We'll need a one and a half cup for the muffins.

The Muffin Team Leader, Flour

P.S. Your paycheck will be sent to you by the end of the month.

Dear Milk,

I had a really interesting time on our date last night. I think you are a really great character and you have a lot of potential in life. But quite frankly, Milk, I don't think you are I are going to work out. I didn't feel any real connection, you know? I hope you feel the same way. I don't mean to hurt you, honestly. It's just that this really doesn't feel right. I'm sure we'll both find our one and only, one of these days. I wish you the best of luck in your life, Milk.

Sincerely, Carrots

MILK,

Get off our back, man. We're already fine and then you come in and mess up our pure delicate taste. Coffee likes being black. Tea likes being strong. What's up with you? Your cold white liquidity is not welcome at the hot drink counter. Leave us alone.

Coffee & Tea

P.S. Hot Chocolate would like us to tell you that if you come within one foot of his mug he will make your life terrible.

M

It’s not everyday that your casserole is intelligent enough to speak to you. It’s only once in a blue moon that something like this happens:

(see in the Middle of the picture?)
If that small bit of sauce conglomerated on the side of the glass pan in the shape of an M is not communication, I don’t know what is. Granted, I don’t actually know what my casserole was saying to me. Perhaps it meant the first letter of my dad's name. Perhaps it meant M, in reference to Judi Dench’s character in James Bond. Perhaps it just meant M, as in the 13th letter of the alphabet. Perhaps it meant M, as in, “Mmmmm… I taste good”. Or maybe the casserole just didn’t get a chance to finish the word. Or the sentence. Or the Monologue. Maybe the casserole wanted to warn me of something, wanted to send me a Message. A Message that the world is Manic, full of Murderers, Make-up, Marauders, Mammograms, Mistakes, Misplaced affection (not to Mention Misplaced keys), Manipulation, false Masculinity, Manga, Mid-sized sedans, Monsters, Manners, and Mix-ups. A Message that it’s a Mad, Mad world and that I should Make My way to the nearest exit. To which message, dear casserole, I Must agree. But I think I must also give the casserole the benefit of the doubt. It could have been trying to say something nice. After all, the world also has Marvelous things, such as Mothers, Mud, Mansions, Mountains, Disneyland, Measuring cups, Malmö, Mayday, and Maps. If my casserole was trying to say something, it Must be something important. Which is why I am going to say that the casserole did mean, M, as in Judi Dench’s character in James Bond. As a good friend, I am going to listen to my casserole. And so now it is time to watch Quantum of Solace. Magnificent!