on pizzi (a loose, visual recipe)

sometimes we make pizzi. it is a stretched out effort made all the easier by doing it slowly, with good company and a few bottles of beer.

we particularly like this recipe for the dough (but, be warned, it needs to sit overnight or the scant helping of yeast can't be coaxed into a billowy crust.) on days when we haven't had enough foresight we use this recipe to an equally delicious if more swift effect.

I think half of this company likes pizza because it enables us to use the grill in the winter time. (Crank it  to upwards of 500, or as hot as it will go, add the bread stone, let it sit for a while...)

And also because we can reenact the college job of throwing pizzas while in our new, less poverty-stricken and Scandinavian-mega-store-furnished nest.

 

And then the best part. Crowding the counter with any manner of things to put on top of the pizza. (Plus a sauce of whole tomatoes, a glug of olive oil and a smashed garlic clove let sit to sputter and melt into the sauce. Simple and light.)

we are frequently inclined to use cheese we make ourselves, but just as soon not. 

and we get in a frenzy, and we burn our tongues instead of waiting for three minutes for the cheese to solidify instead of swooping off the end of a slice, or we get confused about what pizza has just come off and when we need to dash out and put a new one on...



and in the end all of it is good medicine.

and. so. the point is that you can venture onto the deck in your muck boots to peel pizzi on and off the hearthstone just as easily as in the summer, and it is always rather exciting to find such a novelty as summer-fare on the table when the frost is blowing sidelong and you're already (!) beginning to ache for green buds to appear.