PIZZA SUNDAY
My youngest is 21, and well before her birth, our family started to make pizzas for Sunday lunches. The kids would knead the dough, smooth it to the likes of a babys' bottom, stick their finger in the dough to watch the dimple retract, and pinch a piece to eat raw. This latter action was a peculiar habit that they picked up from their paternal grandmother. The toppings were rarely the same. We used left-overs, a variety of vegetables, several different sauces, meats and fish. Bits and pieces of left-over cheeses were incorporated, as well. Our creativity had no bounds. The crust was always thin, a mixture of unbleached, whole wheat and semolina flours. Many kids and friends, who shared in our Sunday afternoons, went on to persue their own pizza creations. One such Sunday, a few weeks ago, Jennifer, soon to marry into our ever growing family, arrived in pursuit of a pizza lesson. She scribbled, kneaded and baked, as we clicked our camera to record the beginning of another Pizza