By Jack Phillipe
"Are you sure you’re not hungry?" my mom asked. "I can make you something before dad and I leave.”
I looked up at her and shook my head. “No, I’ll be fine. I had a late breakfast anyway.” I went back to watching TV as my parents filed out the front door. This was a joyous moment for 12-year-old me; I was home alone with the TV in the living room and I didn’t plan on moving until my parents returned. At least, that WAS the plan. An hour and a half after they left, I felt something. Hunger.
I was not a very smart child, nor a dependable one when it came to food. All I could “make” was cereal but I wanted something more and I was prepared to make it. I rushed to the kitchen, tearing through the pantry and fridge. After a few minutes of searching, I had gathered the ingredients for the antipasto dish, bruschetta.
I placed them all on the counter. “I definitely know what I’m doing here,” I laughed, reaching over to turn on the oven. “Is it 350 or 450? I think it’s…” I winced as I turned the dial to 450. I reached far into my mind, remembering the times I’d seen my parents make bruschetta. I recalled the order on how everything was prepared and recreated it, virtually slicing my pinky off when I had to cut the feta.
Despite the fact that I had never made a bruschetta or any other meal, I believe I did well. It didn’t entirely suck. I never thought I could cook, even though my parents showed me multiple times. It was that moment, the one where I was starving helplessly, that helped show my true potential. I could throw a bunch of different ingredients on naan bread, I just had to give myself the confidence to do so.
"Are you sure you’re not hungry?" my mom asked. "I can make you something before dad and I leave.”
I looked up at her and shook my head. “No, I’ll be fine. I had a late breakfast anyway.” I went back to watching TV as my parents filed out the front door. This was a joyous moment for 12-year-old me; I was home alone with the TV in the living room and I didn’t plan on moving until my parents returned. At least, that WAS the plan. An hour and a half after they left, I felt something. Hunger.
I was not a very smart child, nor a dependable one when it came to food. All I could “make” was cereal but I wanted something more and I was prepared to make it. I rushed to the kitchen, tearing through the pantry and fridge. After a few minutes of searching, I had gathered the ingredients for the antipasto dish, bruschetta.
I placed them all on the counter. “I definitely know what I’m doing here,” I laughed, reaching over to turn on the oven. “Is it 350 or 450? I think it’s…” I winced as I turned the dial to 450. I reached far into my mind, remembering the times I’d seen my parents make bruschetta. I recalled the order on how everything was prepared and recreated it, virtually slicing my pinky off when I had to cut the feta.
Despite the fact that I had never made a bruschetta or any other meal, I believe I did well. It didn’t entirely suck. I never thought I could cook, even though my parents showed me multiple times. It was that moment, the one where I was starving helplessly, that helped show my true potential. I could throw a bunch of different ingredients on naan bread, I just had to give myself the confidence to do so.
Ingredients
1 Naan bread
1 Teaspoon of oil
3 Tablespoons of bruschetta mix
20 Cubes of feta
Balsamic glaze
|
|
Instructions
- Spread 1 tsp of oil around the naan bread
- Heat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit (175 degrees Celsius) and place naan bread in the oven for about 3-5 minutes.
- As the naan bread cooks, take 20 small cubes of feta and cut them into smaller pieces.
- Take the naan bread out of the oven and onto a plate.
- Spread 3 tbs of bruschetta mix around the naan bread.
- Spread your cut feta atop the bruschetta mix.
- Drizzle balsamic glaze over everything.
- Cut the naan bread into 4 pieces.
- Enjoy!
|
|