All I had to do was pop it in the microwave. And that’s all I did. I swear. I made a 1″ slit in the plastic wrap, microwaved it for 5 minutes on HIGH, turned it 1/2 a turn, cooked it for 3 more minutes, and then waited for it to cool another 3 minutes.
So why did I have to pry it from its paper container with a spatula, a steak knife, and a fair amount of “elbow grease”?
OK, so maybe I allowed it to cool for an additional five minutes … but still … why does the slumped pile on the plate look like the ugly long-lost twin of the lasagna pictured on the box? Why does the lasagna on the box look twice as tall as the container in which it was packaged? Is this the “ten pounds” they say the camera adds to its subjects?
My lunch looked sadly amorphous and embarrassed on the plate, compared to the perfectly rectangluar and proud lasagna displayed on the box. It couldn’t hide beneath the lustrous layer of melted soy cheese promised on the box. And yes, of course I know that the stuff that came out of the microwave didn’t benefit from primping and preening, toothpick-bolstering, leafy garnish, studio lighting, and six hours of fussing and whatever the hell else goes on behind the scenes when they take pictures of food for presentation on boxes for retail sale. But still, shouldn’t it have turned out better than this? I mean, come on.
Some other time I’ll tell you another microwave story, where I was completely to blame for the resulting mayhem, but trust me when I tell you that today I wasn’t. Today I’m blaming Amy.
Anyway, I apologized to my food and ate it quickly. “Oh, you’re fine,” I assured it after the first bite. “You’re delicious anyway.”