I’m still working on Kevin to commit to building a brick oven in the backyard of his new house, but until then (or I buy a grill!), I’m now a convert: Pizza at home is not the nightmare you’d lead yourself to believe. It’s no 1200 degree charred-in-all-the-right places operation, for sure (no Yellow Bar), and when you find that your mozzarella has turned, you can’t send the stage down the street for more, but damn, it’s actually pretty good.
My old bagel argument — as in why bother to make bagels when you can buy a much better one for 50 cents down the street — is actually moot here. My freshly made frankenpizza (leftover chicken parm, Parmigiano-Reggiano, and oregano) is a million times more tasty (and less salty) than the frozen variety, and it’s sure as shit cheaper than the drool-inducing, though still no Yellow Bar, Delfina pizzas around the corner (I will NOT call them pies).
I actually don’t remember the last time I bothered, but it’s not nearly as much of a pain as you’d expect: With Mike on the phone, even, I whipped together Mark Bittman’s food-processor dough, adding some cornmeal for crunch, plus the sassy olive oil I toted home from Barcelona, and set it to rise. Mike went to bed, I washed some dishes, and the dough miraculously puffed and grew. All it needed was a little pushing and shoving, a good stretch, and a thin layer of flavorings (homemade tomato sauce, gorgonzola, and salami for pizza #2). I slid my little art piece into a 550 degree oven, and 10 minutes later… Yum!
Crispy crust (could be a little thinner), a bit light on the salt, but a perfect smear of tomato. Next time, fresh mozzarella. And yes, I should have frozen half of the dough for another night…but who doesn’t like cold pizza for lunch?