I’m currently working on a piece about Mauritius, but had to mention something else first. Pizzas are not a specialty in Ethiopia, but we can go to the Hilton Hotel and get some fairly good ones. While Terese is in the States with her new Grandson, I decided to have pizza tonight. As I sat eating, a young mother came in with two little girls, who I guess was probably 6 and about 4. The younger one had frizzy hair like that associated with a child that never sits still.
The Pizza Master creates his pizzas on a marble counter for all to see, which has a small shelf with some decorative items on it in front. When the two little girls arrived, a waitress came and moved the table aside. Then the girls dragged chairs from one of the tables over to the counter. The older one knelt in her chair with arms crossed, resting on the counter, watching the Pizza Master, while the little frizzy headed one, stood in her chair watching with her elbows on the counter supporting her head.
Now I have to assume these little ones are regulars, since the waitress knew exactly what was needed as soon as they entered, but I was intrigued how the girls watched pizzas being made without reaching out to play with something on the counter. I could not imagine my Grandsons sitting that still.
But then, the Pizza Master dropped a ball of dough in front of each girl along with a small wooden rolling pin. They flattened the dough out, rolling and pushing here and there, then after a few minutes he added sauce. The older girl used a spoon to carefully spread hers around, and the little one started out with a spoon, but then resorted to her hands.
Soon, a pile of cheese was added, then other ingredients were place within their reach. After the two girls were satisfied with their creations, they clambered down and sat back at the table with Mommy. I didn’t stay long enough to watch them receive their pizzas, but I can’t help thinking how proud they must be when their finished handiwork is delivered out of the brick oven, onto their plates.