Frozen Lasagna

It was very dark when the four weary travellers finally pulled into the carport. The homestead was as if asleep, not a sound from within. One by one, out of the car we picked our way gingerly along the veranda to the front door. Once inside, two kids ran to the dog and life exploded into the tired home. My sister and I dropped our belongings and decided to tackle dinner straight away so the night would not drag on any longer than necessary. Her son needed his sleep routine and I had to get my girl back to the motel room before 10pm.

We were so glad to have the Lasagna, pre cooked and frozen waiting in the fridge, ready to heat and eat.

Little did we know, our parents have a very special fridge. Not only does it keep things cold and fresh, it also snap-freezes food to cryogenically preserve it for future generations.

When I had bought the Lasagna with Siobhan only 4 hours before, it was frozen but ready to bake, still soft enough to be cut. When I pulled it out of my parent’s freezer, it was a 30 x 30 cm, 5cm deep, solid block of reinforced ice!

Not a problem, when discovered at 3pm with plenty of time to pre-heat the oven and bake it for the required time. A huge problem not only when this discovery is made at 8pm but, the oven is a mystery of the modern world.

The oven is a gas monster. It is as big as the one Hansel pushed the witch into.

That oven needed special attention and loving care in order to work for the person wishing to utilize its warmth. All I remembered from the instructions was that there was a switch up behind the vent somewhere and that had to be on and that after some gentle coaxing the pilot light would ignite the gas and heat it up. Oh, it also needed the broom handle stuck in one corner and propped up against the ¾ mark of the door handle of the oven or else all the heat would escape.

Needless to say, we decided to toss it into the microwave. The microwave lived up to its name and was indeed micro. It was a special. I bought it years ago so we could stick a mug of milk in and heat it for the kids when they wanted warm milk right away.

A 30x30x5 cm frozen slab of Lasagna does not fit into a micro microwave. No matter which way you twist it, it will not fit!

Well, we looked around for a big knife or something which would assist us in breaking this huge slab apart so we could then cook it, in the microwave.

I thought about it and suggested we hold it and slam it against a hard edge which would then break it in half. Just like a tile or a piece of Kung Fu wood, if you strike a flat bit with a sharp edge, it should snap. That was the theory anyway.

I laughed as I told her I would take it outside and find the edge somewhere where I wouldn’t damage anything. My dad would have been devastated if I chipped the kitchen bench doing something this silly!

“have you got an axe?” were my parting words.

Outside, I took the frozen lasagna and searched for a right angle which was guaranteed to be strong enough to break the slab. In the dark, I made my way to the concrete BBQ area and felt for the edge. I found it well enough, there was a bit of light reflecting from it. Kneeling with one knee on the slab I gripped each side of the Lasagna, held it high above my head and swung it down to strike the edge with all my might. After two such mighty strikes, I decided the big guns had to come out to play. This Lasagna was not breaking and I was getting desperate.

Having walked around the entire house and not found a hammer or even a brick, I was back where I started, at the BBQ with a frozen chunk of Lasagna in my arms.

I looked down at my prize and studied it. Frozen solid, in a metal tray with the edges curled around the card which held in the deliciousness which is prepared food, it looked very safe. So safe in fact, it probably wouldn’t be so awful if I maybe stood on it?

See, I am heavy and stronger than that silly Lasagna. If I was to balance this thing on the slab, half of it hanging over the edge, I could probably break it in half with the pure force of my legs. Nobody would have to know, I could just waltz in there with one perfectly halved, nay even quartered Lasagna and we would be able to have a stress free dinner.

So, I balanced the Lasagna, half on and half off the slab. I gingerly stood on to the lasagna with my right foot and when I was sufficiently balanced, stomped down with my left foot as hard as I could. Nothing happened. To myself I thought, well, do it again!

I stomped down again, as hard as I could and that is where everything started to go a bit crazy.

The second stomp shattered the Lasagna. The pieces shot out from beneath my left foot in all directions. My right foot, so securely standing on a frozen bit of lasagna with the hygienic piece of card between the sole of my shoe and the edible bits was no longer so happy. You see, as the left half of the lasagna shattered, the foil it was packed in, bent out. The card which was secured by the crimped lip of said foil was released from its grip and to my absolute dismay; Béchamel sauce has absolutely no traction what-so-ever!

My right foot was taken on a cardboard and béchamel sauce ride, violently yanked to the left of me only to level off with my shoulders which were by now, horizontal to the ground, levitating about two feet up. As I hung there, in mid air, very pleased with the fact it worked, I prayed I would not hit my head on the BBQ on the way down. That would have really ruined my night.

I fell heavily onto my right arm, hitting my temple on the wooden pallet instead. By then it didn’t really worry me too much, the drone in my ears and the slow motion movements of my body were enough to concentrate on. After all, I had a shattered Lasagna to triumphantly carry into the house for everyone to feast on.

Slowly I gathered up all the bits, valiantly fighting of the dog to rescue every piece and gently cradled them on my broken wrist. Yes, I knew it was broken immediately! There is no pain quite like it in the galaxy. Ever so quietly, groaning softly to myself, I carried the bits into the house. I can’t remember how I opened the door but somehow I ended up in the kitchen where I passed the bits to my sister and asked for a cold pack instead. I then went and retired to the sofa with the ice and waited patiently for everyone to have dinner so she could drive me to the hospital for an X-ray.
Now, this is the part of the story my sister insists on telling her way. You see, to her (untrained ears) my fall and subsequent break sounded something like this…

She heard a scream like a wild pig being slaughtered from outside. She then heard a thump and a bit more screaming. When I did approach the house, she tells me she thought I was in the end stages of labour. The sounds, she told me, which were coming from my mouth would traumatise her child for life. She then proceeded to tell me that I threw the lasagna at her while screaming for ice and that the entire time I was sitting in the chair while they finally ate, I moaned and cried like my bones were trying to escape one by one from my broken body.
Well, the long and the short of it. We had lasagna for tea. I nursed a broken wrist for six weeks and my Siobhan had a story to tell at school as to why her two day absence turned into a week ending with a flight home.

P.S. Siobhan wants me to tell you, :”It wasn’t your wrist Mum, it was your Radius!”

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2 Responses to “Frozen Lasagna”


  1. 1 Sandra 22/03/2013 at 10:10 am

    Well that was a very different way to try & get your supper, sorry you broke your wrist trying to feed your family LOL I think I like your sister’s version LOL

    • 2 tarjakelly 22/03/2013 at 2:11 pm

      😀 Everyone I have told this story has liked my sister’s version better as well LOL I’m all better now, it healed without a hitch.


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