Some friends invited me over a couple of weeks ago for a chill dinner of pizza and beer. (Really, I was bugging them to do something, and they graciously offered to cook for me instead. Score! I love friends who cook!)
Before the meal, there was a lovely mix of snacks, wine (the beer got bumped for the already open bottle) & good conversation, which all kept my attention focused outside the kitchen. Watching how the pizza was made was low priority. What came out though was delicious.
The pizza was a savory, cheesy monster – tomato sauce, mozzarella, pepperoni, gorgonzola and capers – with a thick yet crisp crust. There might have been more done to it, but I don’t entirely know. When you’re eating food that good, who wants to take notes?
“This is so good!!!” I said.
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s Italian style.”
“What makes it Italian style?”
“Um…I’m Italian, and I made it!”
Good enough for me. (Although, I’d bet it really had something to do with the olive oil I saw her wielding in there.)