When things get tough in married life, I ask myself, "WHY?".Then, my husband gently reminds me with things like PIZZA.
Exhibits A and B are two of the recent examples of why I married my husband. They are examples of WHY I LOVE MY HUSBAND.
The pizza you see here was made BY MY HUSBAND and it was, by my VERY HIGH STANDARDS- PIZZA STANDARDS- D E L I C I O U S. Homeboy got a bug up his ass late in the day to make some pizza using the pizza stone he had recently purchased. We had been out shopping and running errands all day and I was FAMISHED. Famished+Me=a very bad situation. I kept my mouth shut, not really, as he questioned me about what ingredients he needed to purchase from the market and how to make the sauce, etc. I proclaimed myself not part of the situation. He was on his own. I was hungry, I could not think straight and I certainly could not wait another couple of hours for him to run all over Brooklyn trying to locate the necessaries involved in creating his masterpiece.
Nevertheless, I rattled off a list of what we did not have at home and instructed him on the makings of a simple pizza sauce.
Sometime between me crashing on the couch and popping "City of Women" in the DVD player and dosing off and on an aroma, much like the ones in the cartoons that look like a ghost and travel under the cartoon characters nose and then form a finger beckoning them forth, did just that. When I entered the dining room there it was looking up at me. Mozzarella-homemade from the ninety-something year old Italian lady up the block, prosciutto (San Danielle), fresh basil, San Marzano tomatoes (are there really any other?). I remembered the dried Sicilian oregano and my Calabrese chilies and the arugula that was sitting in the fridge and made a run for them. Armed and ready for dinner I sat down to the most wonderful gift a man can give a woman: Homemade Pizza.
How could it be so good if it was his first time? What about the dough? I am sure you are wondering, and what I ask you is this: Have you ever eaten something made with so much passion, excitement, and care? All of these are absolutely imperative when cooking. One could argue they make anything one engages in better, or more complete. There is nothing worse than food made with no emotion. We eat it everyday, unfortunately. Maybe that is why we are so sick and fat and depressed and on all these pills all the time? I am sure that must be part of a much bigger equation. Nevertheless, that night I sat down to one of the best meals I have ever eaten in my life. The boy is good and I am fortunate.
I could have eaten the whole pie and would have had he not rescued two pieces to share with our landlords downstairs.
Now, I am on to my next adventure. I will have much to report on this very special trip. In just a couple of days, I will return to the land of my ancestors. It is a mystical island that has a rich and colorful history unlike any other. No, not Long Island. I will be in Sicily eating and drinking myself silly and documenting every part of it. Panelle, cassatta, nero d'avola, calamari, pulpo, lemons, anchovies, sardines!!! AHHHHHHHH!
No doubt I will return to the States depressed and unable to eat anything "Italian"- and broker than a mo'fo'. However, I will be rich in experience, exotic and strange amaros, and probably a little more, how do you say in english? Oh, fat.
Bring me the CURED MEAT!
