(Im)Perfection

Oh, my intentions were good.  They really were.  It all started out so innocently Saturday evening. 

How about we grill pizza’s on the grill tomorrow night? I said to Chad.
He was enthusiastic in his response, Mmmmmm. . . that sounds really good!
 
I tend not to like to do things half way.  If we’re going to do something. . . we’re going to do it well.  I immediately began pouring through the Food Gawker website to find the recipe for our first attempt at grilled pizza the next day.  I found the perfect (read: easiest and healthiest) recipe and began looking forward to the next evening.  In my minds eye, I saw the four of us enjoying an evening together making memories over homemade pizza crusts with all the toppings.  I saw us creating, laughing, being silly, and making something out of nothing. 

It would be perfect. . . I just knew it.

I spent the entire afternoon prepping.  Making sauce and testing for just the right combination of sweet and spicy.  Chopping peppers, spinach, tomatoes, and even crying over onions.  Combining flours and flax seed in order to make the perfect dough that I just knew would come off the grill with the most perfect grill lines.  Oh, man, my anticipation was building.

Your mouth is watering isn’t it?  I made sure to build the anticipation.  We had four hours to wait for the dough to rise and my pizza connoisseur husband was aching for his freshly grilled pizza.  To make it fun. . . everyone put together their own. This was something my family used to do when I was young and to this day I still remember those evenings.  I remember the way we pieced together our pizza and took turns placing topping on the pizza and topping in our  mouths.  I had a flashback moment as I watched Chad in between our kids as they did the exact same thing.

I watched my family as they pieced together their pizza’s and I imagined the day when my kids would be doing the same thing with their kids.  Telling their little ones about when they were young “(insert super cool name for grandma) used to make the best pizzas on the grill.”  And they will tell their kids about how much fun they had and the memories that were made sitting around the table on a warm summer evening.  I could just see it.

The recipe said just 15 minutes on a med/high grill and we would be greeted with perfection.  I peeked midway. . .

Perfection was on its way.  As I waited I had such a feeling of accomplishment.  My very first grilled pizza was turning out beautifully. 

I eased the pizzas off the grill and could hardly wait to bite into my first ever grilled pizza filled with extra sauce, spinach, peppers, onions and tomatoes.  I couldn’t wait, that is, until I picked it up. . .

Ugh.  Suddenly, I lost my appetite.  Apparently, Chanelle felt the same way. . .

I’m pretty sure this is her “seriously, is this a joke? I really have to eat this?” face.

I’m laughing about it now, but at the time I was disappointed.  In my mind the memory was ruined.  The experience was shot.  The time was wasted. 

I forgot.  It really wasn’t about the pizza.  We were together and we were making memories.  To be honest, I think I will remember this little adventure disaster even more because our pizza was “roasted” (as Charlie called it).  Sometimes, imperfection is even better.

I like that there are little life lessons in everything.  I’m sure I’ll get bummed over the minor things again–it’s kind of my way.  In the end, though, I seem to always come back to what’s really important. . . the memories.

I was the first to say it. . .

Anyone want to order pizza? 

(And yes, I just wrote an entire blog post about pizza.  What can I say?  It’s Monday.)