Pizza, pizza, pizza

I told you Rita’s nephew and I had a lot in common. The thing I forgot to mention is that we are both excellent pizza makers, as demonstrated by the pizza night that he and I hosted during his visit. Let me just tell you that I have proven sooooo inept in the kitchen that making pizza is now seen as a major accomplishment. [Ohhh…the soft prejudice of low expectations =) ]

To celebrate the the first meal I have made since she met me…Rita enthusiastically contributed a pizza stone from Williams Sonoma to the cause. [Apparently, even pizza gains culinary legitimacy with Williams Sonoma.] I love the thing because it practically forbids you from cleaning it…"do not soak or wash stone in water, nor use detergent, soap or other cleaning fluids as stone is porous”. I read that to say…in the interest of avoiding Palmolive-flavored pizza – do NOT do the dishes. Done.

My grueling preparations for pizza night included finding the pizzeria that sells already-made dough. That’s right…pizza doughballs that are just waiting for the hand-tossed moves of this Noble Roman’s alumnus. Once you settle on pre-made dough…there are only…like…FOUR ingredients to pizza. Nonetheless, Rita’s nephew and I somehow needed to hit six different grocery stores before we had the pepperoni-and-cheese bases covered (there’s no side items on pizza night!).

So let me just get this right…all of the ingredients are pre-assembled…you are forbidden from cleaning the cookware and the only hard-to-emulate cooking technique involves food flying through the air. Is there a cooking genre I am MORE suited for?

Julia Child it ain’t…but blog-worthy it is.