I’ve finally bitten the bullet and asked my mother to cook with me for the blog. It’s not that she’s not a good cook. To the contrary, she’s an excellent cook. It’s just that it’s my mother and I wasn’t sure I wanted to boss her around in my kitchen and tell her how to cook and where to stand and how to measure … I jest to amuse myself. Those reasons were exactly what got me moving.
That’s all you’ve got to say and they come running. Few things make me as content in the kitchen as making pizza. It’s a slow-down, wine-in-hand, stop-and-smell-the-pepperoni, family-absorbing time. I putter around making dough and sauces, cutting up, and sauteeing… it can take as little as half-an-hour to prep or upwards of half a day, depending on my mood. Both can turn out faboo pies and attract wayward family members from the far corners.