So I slaved over a hot stove to make some multi-grain pizza last night – tomato sauce, cauliflower, squash and kale soaked in virgin olive oil and salted and I put on some garlic a friend gave us a gift. The wife is not fond of garlic but usually loves the pizza anyway. This time there was much complaint and lament – too much garlic, it hurt her tongue, upset her stomach, made her feel funny. To add insult to injury she took the remaining pizza – it was supposed to be lunch – and fed it to the chickens.

This has caused a bit of a rift. To try and smooth things over, I bought her a wondrous blueberry scone from the Round House Cafe, which she devoured, but she is still complaining about the garlic, she says she smells of it now. People think of Maria as being gentle and sweet, but the former girlfriend is Sicilian and when she does not like something, I hear about it. I tell you she is not serene. When I began the wooing of Maria, I used to sneak into the Studio Barn and leave chocolates and cheese. She was like a barn cat,  you never saw her eat any of it but it was always gone in the morning. She appreciates being given food. But not garlic.

I think she is over-reacting. The chickens, by the way, loved the pizza, garlic and all. No complaints. I told my friends about it, and they all said they loved garlic. Maybe I did put in too much. I think I put in a whole garlic, not just a few cloves.