Missing that certain something

It Was Frozen. He Was Steamed.

By Rick Horowitz

It all depends: Bold for some folks is a barrel ride over a major falls, a bungee jump off the nearest cliff. For others, it's something just a little calmer -- say, a brand-new brand of frozen lasagna.

Care to guess which group I'm in? (Hint: No waves, no whiplash.)

It's not quite as dull as it sounds -- almost, but not quite. After all, this wasn't just one of those buy-'em-everywhere, eat-'em-everywhere national lasagna brands; this was an exotic brand of (italic)regional(italic) lasagna I'd never seen before. Pulling it out of the frozen-food case was a legitimate act of consumer courage.

"Authentic Italian Recipe," it said right there on the box, and you could tell it (italic)was(italic) an Authentic Italian Recipe because the box was all red and white and green, which are your official Authentic Italian Colors. And not only that, but there was an Authentic Italian Lady's Name on the box, and right next to the name, an Authentic Picture of an Authentic Italian Old Lady, which is precisely the kind of thing you want to see when you're hunting for an Authentic Italian Recipe like lasagna.

And not just any old lasagna -- this particular lasagna was "Lasagna with (italic)Vegetables(italic) (and 4 Cheeses)." And sure enough, there on the box was a picture of a perfectly scrumptious plate of lasagna, covered with sauce, dripping with cheeses, sprinkled with broccoli. (More red and white and green -- how do they (italic)do(italic) that?)

Anyway, I was feeling pretty excited about things when I popped the box into the microwave. And I was feeling even more excited five minutes later when I popped the box out of the microwave and pulled back the cover. The steam cleared, and there before me was a meal fit for a carbo-loading king. Tasty noodles. Tasty sauce. Tasty cheese.

"Where's the broccoli?"

There was no broccoli. Why was there no broccoli, when the picture on the box clearly showed broccoli, plenty of broccoli?

I checked the picture again: It was broccoli all right, broccoli all over the place, left and right, up and --

"Serving Suggestion." Way at the bottom of the picture, in tiny letters almost hidden by all the sauce, were the words: "Serving Suggestion." They were only (italic)suggesting(italic) you serve your Authentic Italian Lasagna with broccoli. If you didn't want to serve your Authentic Italian Lasagna with broccoli, that was your business. You want broccoli, go buy some broccoli -- why are you bothering that nice old lady in the picture?

But it was "Lasagna with (italic)Vegetables(italic)." That wasn't a tiny little "Serving Suggestion" -- it was in big red letters, front and center. It was the name of the dish! (italic)So where were the vegetables?(italic)

I grabbed my fork and started tilling the noodles. It wasn't the broccoli anymore; it was the principle. They promised. They should deliver. They --

But wait: Suddenly I struck pay dirt! Buried under a cheesy, saucy noodle, I found: a pea. A single pea, soft and green and lonely. I lifted it from its hiding place for a better view.

"Peas are vegetables," said my dining pal, always looking for the bright side.

"This isn't 'peas,'" I pointed out. "This is 'pea.' Pea is 'vegeta(italic)ble(italic).' The box said 'vegeta(italic)bles(italic).'"

She couldn't argue with that, so she sat there in silence. I sat there and muttered, and ate. In fact, I had eaten almost down to my last noodle when -- be still, my heart! -- I spied, encased in a swamp of mozzarella and ricotta, parmesan and cottage cheese:

A second pea.

A second pea!

It was no more attractive than the first pea was, but at least they had each other. (There was no third pea.)

"Lasagna with Vegetables" -- exactly.

I have a few "Serving Suggestions" of my own. I don't think they'd print them.