Wood Fire Food

I love pizza, not only because it's wonderful, but because it's one of the few foods that a majority of people can come to some agreement on. Almost everyone can at least figure out some combination of toppings on some sauce on some style of dough that they like. Tonight was a great night of pizza making for us. In all we did 12 pies with pretty simple but good ingredients: pepperoni, sweet italian sausage, onion, portabellini, pepper, artichoke, and of course mozzarella. For the sauce I went back to a style that I haven't been to in a while. Of recent my sauces have been pretty classic, only using crushed tomatoes, a small amount of onion and garlic, and tiny bit of basil and oregano. Today I strayed away from pizza classicism and went where I feel most comfortable, this time absolutely loading the sauce with onions and garlic, and now adding in white wine, red pepper flakes, and a healthy serving of herbs and fresh cracked salt and pepper. Getting compliments on the sauce once again was nice, and I realized that the void in my life has been single-handedly caused by my pizza eating friends not acclaiming my pizza sauce over the last five months. Craving attention and praise, it's obvious which sauce will be made in the future. Problem solved.

My favorite pizza of the night-

Portabellini

Onion

Prosciutto

Mozzarella

Towards the end of the party a great thing happened- the fire was burning perfectly, it was time for AT to take a break, he had been working hard to turn out plenty of pies while I did the oven-ing, and the frantic slice grabbing/eating pace that accompanies our parties was slowing down. I finally had the chance to make a few pizzas all on my own, concentrating on each one, one at a time; this is, in fact, a rare occurrence. I was able to go from beginning to end without the delegation of tasks required by hungry-people time constraints, and I relaxed a bit, knowing that the guests were full and these pizzas would be just for me. Although at the time I was full from grabbing slices here and there through the night, these untouched pies will serve me well tomorrow, providing a perfect Saturday breakfast and a great reward for a successful Friday night.

It truly pains me to write this, but here goes.

Yes, I realize that a bicycle is not edible nor is it made in a brick oven, but this story is only too miserable to not share with the blogosphere. I intend that your dining on my misfortune will provide at least as much nourishment as a few pictures of baguettes.

This all begins with my laziness yesterday afternoon; I leaned my bike up against one of my roommate's cars, a seemingly harmless act that would lead to disaster. At some point in the evening he left, and being a great friend another roommate noticed the bicycle and set it aside so they wouldn't run over it. Problem solved, right? Unbeknownst to me it was behind my truck. This morning it's cold, rainy, dark - horrible biking weather, so as a change of pace I drive to school. Everything is fine, nothing is wrong. I come home and what do I find? A crumpled bike, laying helpless in a puddle, a sick sight indeed. What lowlife human could do this? What the hell is the matter with my roommates? They run over my bike and don't even tell me about it? No, this is a huge problem, I'm pissed.

I soon realize my version of the story is a bit construed.

A mass text to my roommates says, "Did I leave my bike behind a vehicle??"

A few responses I receive-

"Yes, you left it behind your car"

"Yes I believe your own"

"I saw it this morning behind your truck"

"Oh no.. You killed it. Bad?"

I did a horrible thing. I never even knew it happened. I'm sorry young fixie, you were mine for two and half years. Seriously, I am very upset about this, you were great to me. To the streets in the sky you go; I'm just sorry it had to end like this. Your cranks, seat, and wheels will go to good use when I create your son. Goodbye.

For a 'before' picture, just imagine a not-mangled bicycle.