The whole is greater than the sum of its parts
“What should we put on pizza tonight?”
“Hmmm… what do you think of fig and goat cheese, just to mix it up? We have those dried figs to use.” So goes our conversation on a Saturday morning walk around the neighborhood. Saturday night is always homemade pizza and family movie night at our house. We make four pizzas, with some staples like meat lovers for Little Sister and veggie lovers (not for Little Sister), but we like to do more gourmet combos sometimes, including my favorite BLT pizza.
I make the dough for pizza crust with very basic ingredients- flour, water, yeast, salt, a little sugar, letting my Kitchenaid knead for me before I stretch and roll a portion of dough on the wooden pizza paddle into a shape that approximates something round. Then I pass it off to the man who has slept by my side now for 25 years.
He has been chopping red peppers and asparagus, while cooking Italian sausage on the stovetop and microwaving frozen meatballs, pausing to dig in the fridge for myriad cheeses. “Did we use all the ricotta? I can’t find it.” That’s not-very-secret-code for me to look for it. Invariably I find the partially-used container among the assortment on the fridge shelf, and add it to the collection on the counter where he assembles a variety of cheeses and other ingredients, many of which I had never heard of until marrying him.
“You can never have too much cheese,” has become a mantra in our family. Using a rubber basting brush, he spreads olive oil on the dough and piles on various combinations of cheeses and colorful toppings. “This one’s ready,” he calls: my cue to carry it to the hot oven and use the oversize spatula to carefully slide it from the paddle onto the preheated cast iron grate we keep on the bottom rack of our oven (years ago we transitioned to this after cracking several pizza stones).
“You piled this one high…” I almost lose it as edges of dough catch instead of sliding, and the shape becomes even less round, but it makes it safely and I can close the oven door, shutting out its accompanying blast of heat. Now the pizza paddle is free, I can sprinkle more cornmeal and roll out another portion of dough, passing it off to get topped by my partner before checking the oven to see how quickly the cheese and pizza crust is browning tonight.
This process repeats at least four times every pizza night, resulting in some definite yumminess that we very much enjoy. The food is fantastic, and the family tradition that brings us together with our kids each week is even better.
But this is the only meal, the only kitchen process, that brings us together in such near-seamless cooperation. Usually we are a one-cook-in-the-kitchen household, with different styles and temperaments that don’t lend themselves to preparing meals together. As I think about it, I am fascinated that we can each use our strengths– my experience with yeast doughs and his knack for creative combinations and seasonings– to create something so delectable.
Week after week, the ritual repeats, with each of our contributions to family pizza night– a variety of distinct ingredients and processes- coming together into our version of a culinary masterpiece. Taken together, the pizza we enjoy sitting on the couch in front of a movie is a magnificent improvement on its individual component ingredients.
A light goes off in my head. “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” I picture a note written on white paper in black ink with his all-caps-yet-almost-indiscernible scrawl, mailed to me when we were engaged and apart, while I was attending a university out of state. THE WHOLE IS GREATER THAN THE SUM OF ITS PARTS. I knew he was talking about the two of us and our relationship, about our upcoming marriage and commitment to each other for eternity, but many-years-younger-me didn’t really understand.
Maybe I’m finally starting to get it. With the help of pizza night, I’m beginning to recognize that the power of “us” is exponentially greater than the power of “you + me.”
Maybe marriage is a lot like pizza… at least the really good pizza that is incalculably better than the ingredients that comprise it. As we each contribute the very best we have to offer, those strengths unite in a creation that approaches what God intends for marriage, where the whole truly is greater than the sum of its parts.