Date: June 15, 1990 (Friday Evening).
Location: The Cooper Residence.
Event: The Pizza Summit.
Part 1: The War Room
The kitchen of the Cooper residence was designed for catering staff, not families. It had two islands, a six-burner Viking range, and enough counter space to land a small plane. Usually, it felt cold.
Tonight, it felt like a battlefield.
Monica Geller stood at the center island. She had tied her hair back. She had rolled up the sleeves of her oversized sweater. There was a smudge of flour on her nose.
She wasn't the shy, awkward girl hiding behind her father anymore. She was a General.
"Okay," Monica barked, pointing a wooden spoon. "Eric, I need the mozzarella shredded. Not cubed. Shredded. Maximum surface area for melting."
"Yes, Chef," Eric van der Woodsen said, grinning. He was grating cheese with an enthusiasm I had never seen him apply to homework.
"Larry," Monica pivoted to the 325-pound tackle standing by the oven. "You are on dough duty. I need you to knead this. Use the heel of your hand. Push, turn, fold. Don't kill it, just... persuade it."
Larry Allen looked at the ball of dough. His hands were the size of catchers' mitts.
"Persuade it," Larry repeated solemnly. "Got it."
I leaned against the doorframe with Serena, watching the transformation.
"Look at her," I whispered.
"She's in her element," Serena observed. "She's bossing around an NFL prospect and a Highland Park heir. And they're listening."
"Missy!" Monica called out without looking up. "Stop eating the pepperoni. We need that for the topping."
Missy, who was sitting on the counter swinging her legs, froze with a slice of pepperoni halfway to her mouth.
"I'm testing for poison," Missy lied.
"Test the bell peppers," Monica countered.
"Gross," Missy said, dropping the pepperoni back into the bowl. "You're good."
I walked over to the island. The smell was incredible—yeast, garlic, fresh basil. It smelled like a home, not a mansion.
"How we doing, Monica?" I asked.
"The oven isn't hot enough," she stressed, checking the dial. "I need 500 degrees for the crust to blister correctly. If it steams, it's over. It's soggy cardboard."
"It'll get there," I promised. "You need anything else?"
"I need Ross to stop talking about dinosaurs in the living room," she muttered. "I can hear him from here. 'The velocity of a raptor...' Ugh."
"Sheldon has him cornered," I said. "He's safe."
"Hey," Larry said softly. He held up the dough. It was perfectly smooth and elastic. "Is this persuaded?"
Monica poked the dough. It sprang back instantly.
She looked up at Larry. Her eyes shined.
"That is perfect," she said. "Larry, you have the hands of a surgeon."
Larry Allen, the man who terrified defensive ends for a living, blushed.
"I like dough," he mumbled.
Part 2: The Service
Forty minutes later, we moved the operation to the patio.
The sun was setting, casting a long, golden light over the pool. The adults—George, Mary, Jack, and Judy—were seated at the outdoor dining table. The "Kids" took the lounge area.
Eric and I carried out the pizzas on large wooden paddles.
They were masterpieces. Bubbling cheese, charred crusts, perfectly arranged toppings.
"Pizza?" Judy Geller wrinkled her nose as I set a tray down. "Oh. I thought we were having... dinner."
"This is dinner, Mom," Monica said, walking out with a bowl of salad. She looked nervous again. The General was gone; the daughter was back.
"It looks very... heavy," Judy sighed, picking up a slice with two fingers like it was radioactive. "Monica, did you use whole milk mozzarella? You know how grease affects your complexion, dear. And we have the gala next week."
The air left the room.
Mary bristled, ready to defend her guest, but she didn't know how to fight a mother criticizing her own daughter's weight.
Monica shrank. She looked at her shoes. "It's just... it's a cheat day, Mom."
"Every day seems to be a cheat day lately," Judy said breezy, reaching for her iced tea.
Ross snickered. "Burn."
I was about to step in. I was about to say something rude.
But Larry Allen beat me to it.
Larry stood up. He walked over to the main table. The shadow he cast covered Judy Geller completely.
He reached down and picked up a slice of the pizza Judy had just insulted.
He took a bite. A massive bite.
He chewed slowly. He closed his eyes.
The silence on the patio was absolute. Even the crickets stopped chirping.
Larry swallowed. He looked at Judy.
"Ma'am," Larry rumbled. His voice was deep, serious, and completely devoid of irony. "With all due respect."
Judy looked up, eyes wide. "Yes?"
"I have eaten at the finest steakhouses in Dallas," Larry said. "I have eaten Mr. Remington's private catering. I have eaten my own mother's cooking."
He pointed a sausage-like finger at the pizza.
"This," Larry declared, "is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth. The crust? It has a crunch, but it's chewy. The sauce? It's sweet, but spicy. This isn't pizza. This is fuel. This is art."
He turned to Monica.
"Monica," Larry said. "You are a wizard."
Monica stared at him. Her mouth opened slightly.
"T-thank you, Larry," she whispered.
"Can I have the rest?" Larry asked Judy, pointing to her plate. "Since you're worried about the grease?"
Judy blinked. She looked at Larry's size. She looked at the intense sincerity on his face.
"Be my guest," Judy squeaked.
"Thanks," Larry said. He took the slice and walked back to the kids' table.
"Pass me a slice," Zach Thomas said.
"Me too," Jimmy added.
"I want the pepperoni!" Missy yelled, diving for the tray.
The tension broke. The kids started eating like wolves.
Jack Geller took a bite. "Damn, Judy, he's right. This is fantastic. Monica, honey, this is delicious."
Judy looked at everyone enjoying the food. She looked at Mary, who was smiling smugly.
"Well," Judy sniffed. "I suppose one slice won't hurt."
Part 3: The Aftermath
Later that night, the house was quiet.
The Recruits had gone home (Larry took a whole pizza "for the road"). The parents were in the den drinking coffee.
I walked into the kitchen.
Monica was there, scrubbing a pan. The kitchen was spotless, but she was still cleaning. It was a nervous tic.
"You don't have to do that," I said. "We have staff."
"I like it," Monica said, scrubbing harder. "It calms me down."
I walked over and leaned against the counter.
"You heard Larry," I said. "He doesn't lie about food. He takes it very seriously."
Monica stopped scrubbing. She looked at the soapy water.
"He was just being nice," she said. "To shut my mom up."
"Larry Allen is not 'nice'," I laughed. "He's a lineman. If he didn't like it, he wouldn't eat it. And he ate an entire pie, Monica."
She smiled a little. "He did, didn't he?"
"You have a gift," I said.
She shook her head. "It's just cooking, Georgie. Anybody can cook. Ross is studying to be a paleontologist. He's going to be a Doctor. I'm just..."
"You're just what?" I asked. "The girl who made a room full of people happy? The girl who shut down Judy Geller with a pepperoni slice?"
I moved closer.
"Look," I said. "I know how your family works. Ross is the Golden Boy. He studies the past. He looks at dead things. That's fine. We need museum curators."
I pointed at the stove.
"But you create things. You take flour and water and heat, and you make something that brings people together. That's power, Monica. Don't let your mom tell you it's just a hobby. In ten years, nobody is going to care about Ross's dinosaur papers. But they're going to remember your food."
Monica looked at me. Her eyes were wet.
"You really think so?"
"I know so," I said. (And I did. I knew she would be a Head Chef. I knew she would run her own kitchen). "You're the most talented Geller in this house. You just gotta believe it."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her soapy hand.
"Thanks, Georgie," she whispered. "That... that means a lot."
"Just promise me one thing," I said.
"What?"
"Next time," I grinned. "Make some lasagna. Larry won't stop talking about it."
She laughed. A real, loud laugh.
"Deal."
Part 4: The Comic Relief
I walked out of the kitchen, feeling good.
I passed the living room.
Sheldon was standing in front of a portable whiteboard he had dragged downstairs.
Ross was sitting on the sofa, looking exhausted. His tie was loosened. He looked like a man who had been interrogated for twelve hours.
"Now," Sheldon said, tapping the board with a marker. "If we examine the metabolic rate of a warm-blooded reptile of that mass, the calorie intake required would be astronomical. Therefore, your theory that they hunted in packs is inefficient. They would starve before they found prey."
"Sheldon," Ross pleaded. "It's 10:00 PM. Can we please talk about *Magnum P.I.*? Or girls? Anything else?"
"Fatigue is a sign of a weak mind," Sheldon noted. "We haven't even discussed the Pterodactyl wing-span ratio."
"I hate Texas," Ross whimpered.
I kept walking.
Some battles you just let happen.
[Quest Update: The Kitchen Confidential]
* Monica: Confidence Boosted (Skill Recognized).
* Judy Geller: Silenced by Pizza.
* Larry Allen: Loyalty Locked (Fed).
* Ross: Spirit Broken (by Sheldon).
* Missy: Taste Tester Achievement Unlocked.
***
**AUTHOR'S NOTE**
**If you are enjoying the story, please drop a Power Stone!**
I am trying to break into the Top 15 Rankings this week, and every stone helps the Coopers take over Texas!