I won a battle with a jar of pasta sauce the other night. It was a lengthy struggle. Luckily, nobody perished, but the gruesome details of the fight shall go undocumented, to protect the innocent. Bystanders stood in shock as the battle waged on. Man-with-arthritis versus jar-of-pasta-sauce. With mushrooms and basil no less. It would get ugly before it got better.
Finally, after a tiring, relentless struggle with said bottle, man-with-arthritis triumphed, to the glory of the "POP" and the rush of air into the hermetically sealed jar. With regained confidence and spirits elevated to new levels, a second battle ensued: pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it did.
In the war against dinner there are many unexpected problems and countless battles. We must be steadfast and resolute — for no jar and no can and certainly no shame must prevent the perfect dinner.