“That’s the gospel truth,” I told her. “I’ve always lived by myself, so it’s not that I always had people treat me to home-cooked food or anything. But, when I’m not working at the clinic, I’m too beat to even clean my apartment. I mostly just order food or make something real quick.”
“I understand that. But it’s a surprise you don’t look like a bag of potatoes, then. With all the unhealthy fat these takeout meals and snacks contain.”
“I used to work out some years ago. But I think I’m like this simply because the activity of my daily life as a nurse outweighs the fat in my food.”
“That’s true,” she concurred, nodding. “That’s very true.”
“Yeah.”
“I could teach you how to make a few meals,” she offered. “We’re here to make sure you don’t need to put any cooking skills to use, but just for times when you feel like it.”
“Actually, that would be great,” I remarked. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“No problem at all.”
Her eyes lit up as she added, “I could teach you something now. Maybe biryani? Or pizza?”
“Are you serious?” I inquired.
She nodded repeatedly.
I considered the idea for a second. It would definitely be a good way for me to clear my head.
“Let’s do it,” I told her, standing from the chair.
I followed her into the kitchen.
“Wow,” I commented, looking around the large rectangular space. A deep freezer and a three-door refrigerator stood to the left, and a wide marble island sat in the middle of the room. Against the wall facing the door, there were two sinks extending into a marble countertop, which stretched to the right wall. The gas cooker and oven were on the right.
“Oh, ma’am,” Anna uttered as she sauntered into the kitchen with some dishes in a tray.
“Hi again, Anna,” I answered. “I’m here to steal some of your secrets.”
“We’re making pizza,” Greta announced, bringing two transparent plastic containers to the island.
Flour and sugar.
Anna washed the plates in the sink as Greta assembled ingredients on the kitchen island. I sat in one of the backless chairs and watched.
“Which toppings should we go with?” Greta asked.
“Anything is fine,” I answered. “It depends on what’s available, I guess.”
“Everything is available,” she said, chuckling.
“Maybe pepperoni?” Anna opined, turning around to face us.
“Yeah, we could do that,” I said.
“Maybe with some extra beef or chicken?” Greta suggested.
“Chicken,” I said.
“Okay, then. Let’s start,” Greta said, going towards the freezer. “We’ll start processing the chicken and pepperoni while we work on the dough.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding.
Thirty minutes later, after Anna had shredded enough mozzarella cheese and Greta had deemed the dough ‘well-relaxed,’ we transferred the dough to the pizza pan. We added the toppings, including things like olive oil and a final sprinkle of cheese, which I wouldn’t have guessed were a part of the process, then placed the pizza in the oven.
