That night, my fmaily sat around the table salivating and after a few seconds of shock, we dove in; savouring the fresh, fresh tomatoes, commending Mom's choice of expensive cheese, and chewing a lot (and a bit protectively, but can you blame us?).
However, not all the chicken parmesan was gone by the end of the night. We were pretty cheerful to be having leftovers the next day. The chicken parmesan thought all would be well; it would be consumed the next day with a bit of fanfare. Little did it know...
Lunchtime approacheth. Dad and I clambered home for lunch from our respective places of employ (I miss my cushy government job). The chicken parmesan peeked out from the fridge. We set it on the table and began to assail it.
Dad decided he wanted a salad with the chicken parmesan as a centrepiece. It hadn't planned on spending its final moments on a bed of lettuce, but it could deal with. And then Dad brought out some sliced tomato, which makes sense, but then... mango?! Had he gone mad?! Tropical fruit with an Italian main course? It makes sense if it was gelato for afterwards, but...
This is Mom holding up her and dad's creation in front of some flowers so it looks pretty.
And it got worse...
Poor, poor chicken parmesan had no clue it would find itself between two uncannily shaped pieces of bread. We had a whole-wheat baguette whose slices were the same size as my piece of chicken parmesan. We'd eaten this same baguette with the meal last night, but Dad had refrained from turning the meal into a sandwich like he usually does when there's bread on the table. There fore I considered it my duty as my father's daughter to take the baguette, chicken parmesan, some lettuce, and the fresh tomato sauce from the chicken paremsan to make a sandwich.
YUM. Sorry, chicken parmesan, but it had to be done. I hope you forgive us, wherever you are...
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