Kaimusailing

It was Memorial Day, Monday, Pizza Night. I didn’t know how many pies to bake. The boatyard was empty like a ghost town. I biked around looking for prospective customers and texted anyone who was still in the boatyard. I emailed Geoff the chemist who had repaired the pizza oven and at that time said he and his wife would come, but now he said he had to attend the birthday party of a 5 year old girl next door. Robert replied he would have some. I ran into Pamela who was entertaining Canadian friends at her boat, yes, she said.
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I borrowed Robert’s vehicle to get fresh oregano and olive oil at the grocers. I didn’t have much time to spare when I returned. Pamela gave me a tupperware of black olives marinated in olive oil with rosemary and other spices. I had to pit the olives and stopped when I had enough for one pie. I continued to prep toppings, sliced mozzarella, diced onion, sliced mushrooms, strip oregano from its stems, snip basil from Eloisa’s basil plant that I was taking care of, and I had to periodically tamp down the pizza dough balls that were continually rising in their bowls.
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I decanted a liter of merlot into my screw top wine bottle from a 5 liter box. It was time to light the oven. I texted Robert, “The pizza oven is lit and so is the chef.” I began making the first pie, mushroom with fresh basil and fresh oregano, and diced onion. While it was baking I made a pepperoni pie with dried Italian herbs. Robert showed up and sampled some of the marinated olives. Pamela and her friend Julia arrived. The first pie was out and the second was in the oven. My new neighbor, Don, arrived with boxes of Domino’s pizza. Big mistake. He was turning his nose up at maybe the best pizza in town while purchasing what might be the worst pizza in town.
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I now made a pie with mushrooms, olives, onion, and the fresh herbs. Pamela’s friend had helped her transcribe her husband’s notes from an old Lotus file. There were some original pages too, tiny meticulous writing. Pamela is a widow of a suicide, so all these things meant a lot to her. She said she needed some of my wine so I let her drink from my glass. The liter of wine was now finished and I went back to Kaimu to refill the bottle, then decided to just bring the 5 liter box to the pizza table. It grew dark and the mosquitoes started feasting.
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Pamela procured ice cream with nuts and chocolate, I think she waited for the others to leave so that she only had to bring two bowls. I listened to her life story and the details of that awful day when she found her husband dead. I was supposed to make a 4th pizza, but that didn’t happen. She invited me to see her boat, beautiful, custom leather, art of her own making. Elegant. By the time we returned to the pizza table to clear it for tomorrow’s boatyard to use for their lunch it was getting close to 2 AM.
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The next morning I remarked to someone, “When I sober up I’ll have a proper hangover.” Then I was told an anecdote about a bar that had a sign, “Hangover’s made and serviced here.” I found the pizza oven had baked all night unattended and now the propane tank was empty. I had a giant mess to clean up. A new bottle of water that had been standing next to the oven had its cap melted, welded to the bottle. I could not open it, so chopped the top off. I used it to water the thirsty basil plant.
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I had a plastic shopping bag full of trash. I added the pizza dough that didn’t get to be made into a pie. Instead it fermented over the edge of the bowl making a mess, into the bag it went. The dirty dishes were gathered from various places and brought into the communal kitchen to be washed. Someone had stolen my dish detergent, but it didn’t matter, the boatyard had broken the water main to the kitchen and the workman’s wash basin. No water, no detergent, no problem.
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Later I took one of my brand new solar showers, kind of a bag of water with a plastic hose and shower nozzle, up to the pump house which had hot and cold water available and filled it with warm water. I took it back to the kitchen and put it on an upper shelf. The way the plastic hose is packaged, it has permanent creases in the line so no water comes out. A small piece of rigid pipe is included that is just a bit larger than the plastic line. I cut the pipe into four pieces and slid a piece of each one down the line to force the creases open. I put a small amount of warm water in a large bowl and sponge cleaned the dirty pizza dishes. Then I rinsed them and put them in the dish drain. Then the boatyard repaired the water main to the building.
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The image is of the pasta sauce I am using in lieu of the Cento products. I was happy with Cento, but this stuff comes from Parma, IT, and comes in an attractive glass jar.