Jesse folded his arms. “You remind me of me.”
Oh brother. I was NOT like Jesse Pizza in any way. At all.
“A firecracker,” he said. “Stubborn, driven, afraid.”
Afraid???
Then he said, “We can’t make taffy. We don’t have burners in here.”
“What?”
“There’s not a stovetop. I just have a pizza oven and I left my hot plate at home.”
I looked around. He couldn’t be serious. No stovetop? Nowhere to boil anything?
“This is a pizza truck, not a taffy truck, my sister.”
I looked at him in disbelief.
We really did have to make pizza. All my plans were ruined.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will create the masterpiece pizza you never knew you wanted.”
43
Grilled Spam Strawberry Pizza
One of the rules of the Food Truck Round-Up was you had to work with whatever ingredients were in the truck you chose plus the crates of strawberries you picked yesterday. Along with the flowers and plants, Jesse Pizza had weird stuff. Weird, weird stuff.
Jesse and Grandma started talking about ideas—at the moment they were discussing Grilled Spam Strawberry Pizza. “I think it’s the texture that could really make it, Sally. You’re going to love it.”
We were not doing that. I had to figure out what we were doing, though. I let them think they were getting somewhere while I devised a plan.
I gave Hattie my notebook that I keep in my pocket. “Write everything down. We need to think.”
“Okay,” she said.
I started listing off the labels on the ingredients.
Polenta
Spinach
Meyer Lemon
Tomatoes
Fried Capers
Fresno Chiles
Black Beans
Pico de Gallo
Pork Belly
Peppers
“Don’t touch those. They’re ghost peppers, they’ll burn your mouth out,” Jesse Pizza said when he saw me inspecting them.
Farm Eggs
Honey Nut Squash
Cotechino Sausage
Spam
Thai Peanut Sauce
Chicken
Spring Onion
Spam
Ramen
Fennel Sausage
Peanut Butter
Heavy Cream
Onion Creme
Mascarpone
Mozzarella
Kiwis
Pineapple
Brussels Sprouts
Salami
Guanciale
What was Guanciale? I didn’t know what half these things were.
Asparagus
Marshmallows
Why did he have so many marshmallows?
“Why do you have so many marshmallows?” I asked.
Jesse Pizza looked at me, his face red. “Those are for personal use.” He looked at Grandma. “They give me energy.”
Jesse Pizza liked to eat marshmallows while he made pizza. He had bags and bags of them stuffed in a cupboard.
He went back to talking fungi pizza and I had the most brilliant idea I have ever had. Not really. But a pretty good one.
“Why does your face look like that?” Hattie said.
I have an idea.
“Grandma. Jesse. I have an idea.” They looked over at me.
“What?” Grandma said.
“Dessert pizza! Dessert pizza! Dessert pizza!” I kept saying it. I’m sorry but I couldn’t stop. “It’s so obvious. We could make the best dessert pizza. It will be so good. We can make a strawberry sauce and put marshmallows on top—you have so many marshmallows—they could be the mozzarella cheese of our strawberry pizza. We could also use the kiwis and pineapple. Everyone will love it!”
Grandma looked intrigued!
Hattie said, “Yes!”
Jesse flared his nostrils. “Sorry, my friends, I do not do dessert pizzas.”
“What? Why?” I asked.
“It’s just, I don’t believe in them,” he said, putting his hand on the pizza oven.
“What are you talking about?” I said. “We have to do it.”
Grandma looked at Jesse and then back at me. She was still in her full chef stuff, jacket and hat and all, and it was hotter than lava in here.
“I think we should hear Meg out, Jesse.”
She said that! She knew it was a good idea! Victory!
“Nope,” he said. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”
“You can do it,” I said.
“No. That’s what they’d expect us to do.”
He started pacing and it was way too small a space for that. He had to get past Hattie first. “Excuse me,” he said. “Dessert pizza is not my brand. Excuse me.” He got by Grandma. “And I don’t think, you know, excuse me”—now past me and turning back around—“competing with other dessert trucks, trying to make dessert when that’s not our expertise, excuse me”—past Grandma again—“is a good idea. Excuse me.” He went past Hattie and now he was by the pizza oven.
He stopped, thank goodness. “I built this oven by hand. My mom used a standard pizza oven. This is my baby and it was meant to make my kind of pies. Not kitschy dessert pizzas.”
Grandma folded her arms. “He has a point. I once ate a cinnamon roll pizza at the worst pizza restaurant I had ever been to. It was truly unappetizing.”
“See! I won’t do it. I won’t. They won’t cook properly anyway,” Jesse said.
“Grandma,” I said. “No one is going to eat Spam strawberry pizza around here.”
“Oh, I think they might,” she said. “They’ll be curious.”
“Yes, exactly,” Jesse said. “Exactly my vibe. And I have other strawberry ideas too. I have millions of strawberry ideas.”
“Grandma,” I said. “I’m sorry, Jesse, but we’ll lose. Hattie. Tell her to listen,” I said.
Hattie looked scared.
“I don’t like Spam,” she said, which was kind of helpful but not all the way helpful.
Grandma took off her chef hat and rubbed her forehead. Was she breaking?
“How about this,” she said to me. “You and Hattie go set up outside. Jesse and I will come up with three pizzas that we think could be hits. We’ll all try them and then make a decision.”
“We don’t have time for that,” I said.
“We’ll be quick about it, right, Jesse?”
“Sure. Pizzas are fast.”
“That’s right. Pizzas are fast, and we have to set up outside anyway, sis. Just give him a chance.”
“I’d really appreciate a chance, Meg,” Jesse Pizza said.
Oh my gosh.
“Grandma,” I pleaded.
“End of discussion, Meg. Let him do his thing.”
* * *
—
Meg 2, Grandma 6
44
Dis-included
Hattie and I were thus kicked out, banned, dis-included.
“I can’t believe this,” I said to Hattie.
“I’m sorry,” Hattie said.
We had a small part of the parking lot designated as Arlene Pizza’s Parlor dining space. There were three picnic tables off to the side, a garbage can, a table with Parmesan cheese and pickled carrots, which was weird, and water, plus a potted tree.
“Why is there a tree?” Hattie asked.
“I don’t know.”
We looked at the other trucks and they all had potted trees too. No one was out decorating because they were all inside working AS A TEAM on their food. The worst part was, Grandma should be decorating, not me. She was the one who had learned
how to upcycle. She was the one who plastered her room with dream boards. She was the one who was driving around in a monster truck with stripes. She had flair.
I, on the other hand, cooked dinner almost every night either with my dad or with Hattie. I made cookies and cakes and pies on the weekend and once I made up my own pudding out of melted chocolate. I should be in that truck.
We moved the picnic tables out to the middle of our dining area.
Then we stood there.
“I think we’re done,” I said to Hattie.
“Should we, like, decorate or something?”
I shrugged.
“Grandma!” I yelled. “Did you have any kind of vision for this place?” She opened the food window.
“What?” She’d put on a hairnet. “What did you say?”
“What should we do out here?”
“Catch,” she said, and threw me the keys to her truck. “You can find some stuff in the back and definitely decorate that tree. We don’t have a lot of vertical space.”
“Grandma, you’re the one who knows how to do this.”
“Oh puffo! Get going,” she called, and then shut the window.
I sighed.
“I thought we emptied the truck,” Hattie said.
“If Grandma says there’s stuff, there’s probably stuff,” I said.
And yes. There was a lot.
First of all, there were some griddles from the pancake breakfast that Dad hadn’t taken back to work. There was the bag of Aunt Jenny’s weird dolls. There were still a few boxes of costumes. A box of props. An old door. A couple dress forms. A box of sheets and blankets. Another box with masquerade masks, feather boas, sunglasses, some fake food, and a giant plastic foot.
Oh, and my tuxedo hat and jacket, which I’d chucked in there with rage when I’d gotten back from the balloon fiasco.
Dawn Allerton told us we could use whatever we had on hand, plus any of the poster board and other supplies she and her assistant had brought.
We had a lot of stuff.
Most of the teams would probably use the Dawn supplies, so was this an advantage? All the junk Grandma had?
Except I had no idea what to do with it.
I groaned. “Help me pick up the door.”
Hattie and I lifted the door and it was heavy and I was trying to get it over the back of the truck and I yelled, “Do you have it?” and she said, “No, I don’t have it,” and then I was flattened by the stupid door.
“Are you bleeding?”
I was lying on the asphalt with the door on top of me.
“Probably,” I said.
“This is the worst,” Hattie said.
We tried to make the picnic tables look nice. We put the dolls in the middle for centerpieces and we cut out cardboard pizza slices and scattered them all over the ground.
We leaned the door up against the end of the food truck.
“What’s that for?” Ellie called. She was stringing lights to her tree, which looked very elegant, and where did she get lights?
“It’s to welcome people to our truck!” I yelled.
“With an old door?” she said.
Diego was putting up lights too. Did they all think to bring lights? Was there some fancy light memo I missed? “What are you guys going for? Junkyard?” he asked.
“We’re going for eclectic!” I yelled back. “Mind your own business.”
We both looked at the mess we’d made.
“It’s hopeless,” I said.
Hattie nodded. “It is kind of bad.” Then she said, “Maybe we could make it a photo booth.”
I looked at Hattie. “That is the most genius idea!”
“Thank you,” she laughed.
I hugged her. It’s not that a photo booth was going to make us win, but people like those things and it was so smart.
We got one of the sheets and draped it over the door.
“Get the masks and boas,” I said. Hattie ran. “And the fake foot!”
We set up a bunch of props and costumes for people to use. We put the foot by the door and then hung the tuxedo jacket and hat on the dress form. We made a sign that said TEAM STOKES WISHES YOU THE BERRY BEST NIGHT! ALL PROCEEDS GO TO THE ALZHEIMER’S ASSOCIATION. Then we pinned it up.
It looked amazing. We did something amazing!
Grandma opened the window. “Girls,” she said.
We looked over.
There was flour on her face and green sauce on her apron.
“Come try our pizza.”
45
A Victory
Grandma and Jesse made three kinds of pizza. Strawberry Blue Cheese Onion Creme Pizza. Strawberry Thai Peanut Nasturtium Pizza. And last but not least, Strawberry Fennel Sausage Pizza with Fried Parsley and Funghi Misti Mushrooms.
We stared at them.
“What are they called again?” Hattie asked.
Jesse said the names of the pizzas again.
“They are ah-mazing!” he cried.
Grandma folded her arms; she seemed rattled. Hattie looked at me. This was the first time we’d seen Grandma seem off her game and to be honest, it was unsettling. Maybe Grandma had met her match with Jesse.
“They look pretty good,” I said.
The pizzas were cut in tiny slices. Grandma said, “I hope you like them. We’re trying to decide which one to feature.”
Hattie took a bite of the strawberry fennel one.
Hattie started coughing.
Hattie almost died.
“What’s wrong?” I said. She was hacking now; I hit her back and Grandma got her a glass of water.
“Is it bad?” Jesse Pizza said, crestfallen.
Hattie’s face was bright red. “It’s hot. It’s so, so hot.”
She gulped down the water.
“Oh,” he said. “I did use a spicier sausage on that one.”
Jesse took a bite of the pizza, closing his eyes as he chewed. “It’s subtle. She must be sensitive.”
“I told you we should ease off on the hot sausage,” Grandma said.
“Sally, I have to go with my gut.”
She sighed. “Try the pizzas, Meg.”
So I did.
The strawberry blue cheese one was strange, but the flavors worked surprisingly well together, I must say.
The Thai strawberry peanut one took a few bites to get used to. The nasturtiums were kind of peppery. It did have a slight peanut-butter-and-strawberry-jam undertone, but I kind of liked it.
“This one’s good,” I said.
“I’ve been thinking about that one, Jesse. What about allergies?” Grandma said.
It was true, no one was allowed to bring anything with peanuts to school. That could limit our customers.
“Oh, allergies,” Jesse sighed.
And last but not least, the one that almost killed Hattie, the weird sausage mushroom one. Though not for everyone, it was by far my favorite—sorry, Hattie.
“Can I get the recipe?”
“Of course,” Jesse said.
I was surprised but I really did like his pizzas.
“They’re good, Jesse.”
“Thank you,” he said, beaming.
“Normal people around here don’t,” Hattie said. She was sitting at a picnic table, recovering.
“Are you serious?” Jesse asked.
I felt kind of bad for him. I knew what it was like to have your ideas shot down.
Grandma sat next to Hattie. “I’m sorry, Jesse. I think she’s right.”
Jesse ate another piece of the mushroom one. “How can anyone not love this?”
“You don’t think it’s going to work?” I asked Grandma.
“I don’t,” she said. “You were right about the dessert pizza
.”
“I was right?”
She nodded. “You were absolutely right.”
She looked at Jesse. “I think we need to do it, Jesse. Even if it hurts your soul. I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “Really?”
“Really,” Grandma said.
He looked at me. “Fine. This is wrong, but fine.”
I clutched my chest. “Be still, my heart!” I said, and Grandma laughed.
“You have to tell everyone it was your idea. I had nothing to do with it,” Jesse told us.
“We will!” I said. “We’ll take all the credit.”
I looked at my watch. We had under an hour left.
Grandma stood up. “Jesse and I will finish up out here. You and Hattie figure out your pizzas.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “This time I should have trusted you.”
Hooray! The tide was turning!
* * *
—
Meg 3, Grandma 6
46
The Beginning
Hattie and I got to work. She rolled out the crusts. I made strawberry glaze and put on the marshmallows.
We’d never baked in a pizza oven and it took us a few pizzas to get it right but we did!
“Grandma!” I yelled out the window. “I think we figured it out.”
She and Jesse were tying a purple ribbon into the tree. She came hurrying over.
“Show me.”
She took a bite.
She looked at Jesse. “You have to try this.”
He walked over. “What do you call it?”
“Uh, it’s Strawberry Marshmallow Surprise.”
“Great surprise,” he said, sarcastically, which was rude.
“Try it,” Grandma said.
He took a bite. He looked at me. “What’s on this? This isn’t just marshmallows.”
“It’s the surprise. I used some mascarpone. I thought it might go well with the sweet.”
He smiled. “It does. Smart girl.”
I laughed! It was good! He liked it!
Maybe we could really win.
We got all the ingredients ready because we wanted to make the pizzas fresh for our customers. “Fresh is really the only way,” Jesse said.
The War with Grandma Page 16