erniefreeman's Blog

What is it with folks like me who have to have their food scalding hot?  I think I got it from my uncle Robert, who once told me he couldn't drink coffee, "unless it was burning my lips."  For all those years I drank coffee, it had to be scalding.  The same with soups.  The same with gravy.  The same with pizza.  Which brings me to this weekend.

I'm warming up the frozen pizza (not delivery) at four hundred degrees for twenty five minutes.  I click on the oven light to see if the crust is rising and browning.  It is.   It's almost ready.  Plopping it on the kitchen counter, I can see the steam rising from this pie like it does those sewer covers in the garment district in Manhattan.  This meat lover's concoction is ready to be gobbled up.

Within seconds of dividing it evenly into eight sections with my pizza cutter,  I'm jamming it into my pie-hole, with the bubbling tomato sauce singeing patches of that think layer in the roof of my mouth.  At once, embracing and denying the oral trauma, I chomp down on that slice like it's a cool freshly sliced melon.  Not the best idea.  Three more slices later, and the interior mouth damage is pretty complete.

The next morning (Monday) I can barely chew my cereal.  The skim milk isn't really working as a soothing agent.  My mouth is all jacked up.  Eating is no fun.  I'm having a hard time here.  Tuesday is a little better, but I can tell I ate something hot over the weekend.  The mouth wounds are starting to heal.  'Who does this to themselves other than me and my uncle," I'm thinking.

"My goodness, that lean pocket burned my tongue, I think I lost a taste bud," exclaimed Valerie Calhoun, after a trip to the microwave.  What is it with us and too hot food?