Daria: Have you seen those Olive Garden commercials with the rolled lasagna?
Tata: I have not!
Daria: I saw that and decided to make it myself. Where’s Pete?
Tata: Working at his own job. Whatcha doin’?
Daria: Making lasagna rolls, and I’m making up the recipe as I go. What temperature should the oven be? Everything’s already cooked. Some people say 350, some say 375.
Tata: You’re not cooking the lasagna. You’re tanning it. I’d go 350 for a Jersey Shore tan and 375 for Miami Beach. If it comes out looking like pasty Maine, your oven’s broken.
Any other week, I might’ve gone as Ipanema as 450 on that lasagna but last weekend, Siobhan accidentally set deep dish canneloni en flambe under a broiler, peeled off the char and served it to a crowd; naturally, I was concerned. And carcinogenic. Some time later, Daria called again.
Daria: Hey…a funny thing just happened. The lasagna rolls came out great and I thought, ‘I’ll just call Dad – oh no I won’t.’ You know we put his picture in a frame and put up the inscription from the Different Drummer in the living room. So I went out in the living room and told him about the lasagna rolls.
Tata: Did he critique your sauce?
Daria: He didn’t! I was surprised because I, you know, forgot.
Tata: Ten times a day, Dar. I think of something he’d find interesting or funny and – hoo boy.
Daria: Hey! Fifi took a bite out of a centerpiece apple – like, a week ago. You know what I’m eating that you’re not?
Tata: You found a brown bite mark on a piece of fruit and can identify which of your little children went macrobiotic? Break it to me gently. What are you eating?
Daria: Yep. We spend a lot of time at the dentist.
Tata: I bet you do.
Daria: Delicious lasagna rolls. Duh!
But it was too late for envy. I’d already eaten.