I really like Thursdays. There is something about the eve before Friday that seems so relaxing and promising. Since Thursday, and the wonderful definitely-not-delivery meal that was shared, I've been in New York City braving frigid weather internet-less. I know, it seems nearly impossible. Manhattan without the internet? Apocalyptic and unsettling. And very counterproductive if you need to update your blog. But, 'tis true. My fancy computer doesn't agree with wired-only internet. She's only happy with wireless.
I also really like sunflowers. Don't you?
I mean, pick up a bunch of stems, trim them a good bit and toss them in an old tomato sauce or peanut jar. The whole room seems different. Brighter, happier, warmer. Yellowier.
That being said, I so need to share the delicious smorgasbord from Thursday.
Menu:
Tomato, Mozzarella & Oregano Pizza (#29 & #30)
Garlic, Mozzarella & Parmesan Pizza (#31)
Ever since seeing these delicious little treats on the beautiful food blog, DanaTreat, I have been dying to try them out. Onions are so packed with flavor, and the longer you cook them, the more amazing they taste. I just love the smell of onions being cooked down on the stove. It brings me right back to Friday nights at bingo at the church hall when I was a little girl. You see, twelve years of Catholic school teaches you three enormously useful skills: how to get 500 old ladies in a 200 capacity gymnasium for bingo night, how to set up, move & break down any configuration of folding chairs in that gymnasium and, of course, how to run a 50/50. These skills have brought me great success with, uh...no, actually they haven't. However, during those bingo nights in the kitchen, which I had to stay in being under 21 and there was gambling going on, I learned about the incredible smell of onions being fried up. Only difference is that in my case they were being prepared for a simple little hor d'oeurve of puff pastry goodness, and in the bingo case, to be stacked on top of Philly cheesesteaks. Six of this, half a dozen of the other.
Fifteen minutes of sauteing to a beautiful crispy topping
DanaTreat called them pop-in-your-mouth-appetizers, and she wasn't kidding. It is a good thing they were made for sharing, because they were too delicious to be restrained from.
I've been wanting to try making real homemade pizza dough for awhile. My father talks so nostalgically about his grandmother, Mildred Palombo, making pizza for him and his five brothers. Or him and his pack of college friends on a weekend away from school. And, being from a place were pizza is not something you just slap together for stumbling-home bar rats at 2am. No, no, no. Pizza is really a meal. I hail from the Jersey Shore, which I cannot remember sharing or not. Yes, I'm a redhead from Jersey. The middle of three redheaded gals from Jersey, actually. But, back to the pizza. There are alignments you make between this pizza joint and that one on the Jersey Shore. The phrase "Ocean City Boardwalk pizza", if spoken to the right person, could begin a diatribe of reasons of where and why you eat pizza where you do. As much as I love DC, I do not love their pizza. With a very short list of exception(s).
So, naturally, to emulate my dear Italian great-grandmother, I turned to a recipe from Donna Hay. The sweet Australian that she is. And let me tell you, I would do it again. The dough really had that perfectly elastic texture pizza dough should have. Although I worked in one of these boardwalk joints for many a summer, I didn't master any tossing skills. But, a hefty rolling pin works really nicely with her recipe.
The crust was really yummy and crispy, and held the thick slices of fresh mozzarella well. A big green salad and red wine were perfect pairings. It was a great Thursday.
269 to go...
Oh, and my new kitchen look:
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