Before we were married, while Bill was still a bachelor, he lived in an old historic Denver Square near downtown. It had a beautiful contemporary kitchen, which HE NEVER USED. NOT ONCE.
What he did do was call Nicolo’s Pizza regularly, probably at least six times a week. When his kids were with him (they were teenagers at the time), they might order pizza twice a day. They would probably have ordered it for breakfast too if it had been open. Because I assure you, they couldn’t have leftover pizza for breakfast. There never was any left over.
In fact, one of the funniest stories about Bill’s and my courtship was when I came over for dinner soon after we started dating. It was a Friday night, his kids were visiting, and so, of course, we ordered pizza. The boxes were delivered and we went to the television room where they always ate. It was one of the first times I spent any time at all with his kids.
“How many pieces are you going to eat?” Heather asked me before the box was even opened.
“Well, I don’t really know,” I responded tentatively, unsure if this was some sort of test. Was there a right or wrong answer? “It depends.”
“Hmmm,” she said. Apparently there was, and I had answered incorrectly.
In actuality, she was being kind, as Heather ALWAYS is. She wanted to make sure I would get enough pizza, because once they were told “Go!” it was no holds barred. One could lose a finger. She wanted to make sure they set aside enough pieces for me.
I believe that was the same occasion that his son Dave took two pieces of pizza, and put a third piece of pizza between the other two, thereby making a pizza sandwich. Bill put a kibosh to that very quickly.
All this is to say that we take pizza very seriously. And it is causing a rift in my family, Friends.
My brother Dave insists – INSISTS – that I should make Friday Pizza Day on Nana’s Whimsies. At first he strongly suggested I eliminate the whole Friday Book Whimsy idea completely and replace it with Friday Pizza Whimsy. Who would read a book when they could eat a pizza, he apparently wonders.
I told him that there are people who LIKE my book reviews.
“Hmpfff,” he said. “But I bet they like pizza more.”
Once I convinced him that I wasn’t willing to do away with my Friday Book Whimsy (the blog, after all, is called Nana’s Whimsies and not Pops’ Whimsies), he has moved on to suggesting that I review pizza places each Friday. This is all based on his notion that Friday is Pizza Day in everyone’s mind. He went so far, in fact, as having his daughter Jessie, who works at a grocery store that sells freshly baked pizza, begin counting the number she rings up so that she can compare Friday’s pizza sales to other days’. The jury is still out, though he insists he’s right. In the meantime, his daughter’s boss has suggested Jessie quit placing pizzas into people’s carts on Fridays without their consent.
And, I must admit that I love the idea of doing a pizza review on a regular basis. However, I reminded him that I have a world-wide audience (I have a committed reader who lives in Brazil!) who don’t care if Oregano’s Pizza in Gilbert, Arizona, is good when they live in Omaha, Nebraska.
In the meantime, my sister-in-law told me about a recipe she read for a pizza crust that involved two simple ingredients – Greek yogurt and self-rising flour. So I invited Dave and Sami over for pizza (though it was Sunday and not Friday).
Our conclusion? A home run. Or at least a triple. I might add a bit of salt to the dough, even using self-rising flour. And I might sprinkle the pan with corn meal, because I think that adds a lot of flavor. But the result was surprisingly good. And so simple to do. We even caught my brother-the-baker flipping the dough in the air.