I’ve been making a lot of pizza lately. We do pizza night every week, but because of long battled scheduling conflicts we had multiple pizza nights this week. It was wonderful.
When the flour is measured comes my favorite moment. Pouring the olive oil on the flour, it resists combination. The oil beads up and loses its glimmer. It paves several unpredictable canyons like the drips of water down the chaotician’s hand. It comes to a rest still recognizable as oil, but it will never be the same. Shortly it will be lost forever to exceed the sum of its part.
Fresh basil makes all the difference. It’s out of season right now, but this week the grocery had a plant which is sure to die. We harvested leaves while we could, and enjoyed it sprinkled across four pies. Except the children who resist anything green polluting their cheese.
Cutting squares of parchment is the cleanest job. It’s vital for easing the transition from peel to steel. It’s the only material that winds up in the garbage. </span></p>