pizza

I'm not a food Instagrammer (and really, in my humble opinion, no one should be--just eat your food for Christ's sake!). So you will never see the two perfect pizzas Dave and I made the other night. These were no ordinary pizzas. These were pizzas of the Italian gods. Homemade dough, double-proofed and stretched to perfection. Sauce from scratch with only five ingredients--San Marzano tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper. Toppings? Two. Fresh mozzarella balls torn into bite-size morsels and fresh whole basil leaves. Pizza Margherita--fired to perfection in a newly purchased pizza oven that we have not mastered, but I would say we definitely, on this last run, we at least triumphed. The pizzas were a golden brown around the edges with just a hint of char in a few spots, and the cheese was bubbly and beautiful. They were gorgeous, but more importantly they were delicious. Delicious like f you were served this in Italy you would be happy. Not to brag. But we nailed it. I'm moving to Italy to become a pizza maker. 

This glorious meal was not without some work though. Effortless is not a word that would come to mind. We were scrambling trying to keep the oven at a consistent temperature while making pizzas and getting them on to and off of the peels, into and out of the oven, turning them to bake evenly without putting out the fire and creating a smoke storm that probably had our neighbors wondering if we were okay... it was a frenetic repast. But it was fun. It was kind of an event, something to get excited about, to look forward to. 

And as we ate, in between groans of satisfaction, we talked about what we are going to do differently next time so that it might be a little less frenzied. 

It's a little bit of work making pizzas from scratch and cooking them in a pizza oven. There's preparation involved, and teamwork and timing. It doesn't just happen. But it feels like an accomplishment when you're done. And that's something.