Showing posts with label pizza. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pizza. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Accidental Generosity of Others
A couple neighbors of ours just had a kid. As it turns out, that's why people move to the suburbs. They buy houses, quit going out to eat at any cool places, pull weeds, cut grass, then have a bunch of kids. The screaming-kid-and-urine-filled neighborhood pool is the only source of entertainment, save drinking. When I bought my house, I had grandiose visions of lavish barbecues every weekend: complete with the finest meats and cheeses, beer that flowed like pee in the neighborhood pool, and horseshoes. Horseshoes aplenty.
Okay, I was a little more wise to the situation than that. I suspected the party would slow down once bars were not within walking distance. It's okay; the free-wheelin' lifestyle afforded in my early 20's was not sustainable. An innate instinct to migrate to a subdivision and create 2.5 kids strengthened. Clearly, I was not alone in this shift.
So, derailing ramble aside (as usual), there's another newborn in the 'hood. As a first child saps one's energy like a metroid attached to the head*, preparing meals becomes a nigh-impossible task. The wife and I- now crafty veterans- decided to put together a tasty treat to satiate the weary on a night thought to be designated our turn to feed the troops.
*this is a REALLY nerdy joke, even for me. I just can't forget how those little f'ers would really set you back when you could sniff victory after hundreds of hours invested in no social advancement. Screw you, metroids.
Through communication error- something in which I excel- the couple had already eaten, and we were (perhaps fortunately) left in the possession of this:
A rather simple concoction: homemade sauce (olive oil, crushed canned tomatoes, garlic cloves, fresh basil, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, and ground fennel seed), fresh Mozzarella, Fontina, Pecorino, fresh oregano and basil, and roasted garlic. I piled this on top of some pre-made Publix dough. It's as close to making it yourself while still being lazy. The dough comes in a ball; just let it rise in an oiled bowl with a damp towel draped over, punch down, flatten, and toss. I make a decent homemade dough, but I also have a little kid. Spare me the grief concerning the shortcut, and allow me to play the "new kid" card.
I paired with a juicy, amply-acidic Zinfandel-based California red blend, and dinner was off to the races.
However, to Amy, Scott, and little Griffin: we're sorry for the goof, and we owe you a pizza. Just don't feed it to the kid.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Classic Pairings 102: Chianti & Pizza Pie
Originally, it was Coke, Sprite, or root beer. Then, somewhere along the way, the "root" was lost in translation, and the harder stuff- likely a cheap domestic brew- became the poison of choice. Sure, by themselves they were adequate (especially the beer, in quantities I wish not to, nor probably can I, remember), but when paired with the quintessential gathering food- pizza- our drinks become more than thirst-quenchers or buzz-generators. Pizza has always been Friday nights, college post-bar scene, simple, honest, rustic, and satisfying. Seems fitting the drink along with it would fit the bill as well.
Not quite as desperate, but equally as hungry (as is often the case), we fired up the oven to its inadequate 500+ degrees, procured some dough from a local bakery (I'm not confident enough in my homemade dough, or baking in general at this point), and sourced a cornucopia of fresh veggies and tasty, fattening meats. A quick preparation of canned Italian plum tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, fresh basil, dried oregano, pulverized fennel seeds, salt, pepper, and sugar (in secret proportions, or more accurately, in quantities I neither remember nor wrote down) yielded a flavorful base-coat for our discs of punched-down and flattened out dough (none of which ended up on the ceiling, as far as my wife knows). We then went to work- Picassos and Rembrandts in our own minds- layering buffalo mozzarella, pecorino, hot sausage, sopressata, pepperoni, cappicola, spinach, onions, green pepper, kalamata olives, anchovies, hot peppers, sliced tomatoes, dollops of marscapone, or whatever else we could find. Brushed the edges with some extra virgin, a sprinkle of salt or crack of pepper, and into the blistering oven for 8 minutes (convinced a wood-burning outdoor oven that reaches 1000 degrees would be a necessary purchase in the future). 
In the end, given the equipment, the pizzas turned out great. Especially the crust, which really in the most important part of a good pie. Ours were crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. The flavorful sauce, rich meats, and runny cheeses melded to create a familiar taste of comfort. They called for a wine of equal simplicity. We poured Fèlsina Berardenga Chianti Classico, and the clear (but subtle) cherry, orange peel, and herb flavors, along with bright acidity worked great to counterbalance the firecracker of tangy tomatoes, italian herbs, yeasty dough, spicy meats, charred veggies, and unctuous cheese......I thought I'd never use the word "unctuous". I struggled for ten minutes trying to think of something else. Sorry.
Anyway, this was no time to dwell on the flavors and aromas of the wine. Chianti is meant to be DRUNK, much like pizza isn't often savored like haute cuisine. All the more reason why the two go together so well. Acidity brings flavors out of food, and it helps balance fat. Needless to say, pizza has both in spades (flavor and fat), and Sangiovese is- like many Italian wines- big on acidity. They're designed for food, and they deliver big time. Maybe not the best wines on their own, but as a "condiment at the table" (as one Italian winemaker once described it), Italian wine, and Chianti especially, finds its comfort zone.......just like a 2nd year journalism major on a couch in a stupor at 4 A.M., half-eaten box of Domino's by his side.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
'Zas, Brah.
Well, I'm backed up a day due to the crimes against humanity perpetrated by my hotel last night, but I'm just gonna bump things back a day.So, without further ado, the video from this past weekend's pizza night at the Casa del Wino, which is going to segway nicely into "Classic Pairings 102: Chianti as 'Za"
Mangia!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Lunker Bass, Single-Vineyard Pinots, and Ugly Orange Tank-Tops
Every August marks another notch in the 38 to 40-sized belt of the leisure sport circuit. Neighbor, friend, and Jim Mora Jr. look-alike Michael "Bliggity" Blank hosts his annual Blankmasters Classic, bringing together some of the most non-notable names in the world of fishing. Basically, teams of two try to catch-and-release as many fish as possible in a 3 hour timeframe. The teams are also in the running for "best team name", so coming to the plate with a good one is as important- if not more- than winning the tournament. And with all due respect to this year's winning team name ("Weapons of Bass Destruction"), I feel my teammate and I hit the jackpot 4 years ago with "Nuclear Fishin'", so we've been hesitant to change. Plus, a new team name means we'd have to spend money on new shirts, and that just ain't happenin'. 
Four years ago, I felt great. I thought my teammate- The "Bathunter" (long story)- and I had it in the bag. I've fished a good bit in my life, and I thought BH would surely come to play. Long story short, he showed up drunk, fell in the pond, and we didn't catch a fish. In fact, my esteemed partner was honored with the booby prize: 2006 Worst Angler.
No big deal. We'd bounce back in 2007. Confident and cocky, we put our best foot forward. The result: see to the left. I was awarded 2007 Worst Angler. "Nuclear Fishin'" was two-for-two. And yes, that's a trophy of a horse's ass. Salt in the wounds, Bliggity.
2008: Maybe it was the bait. Nightcrawlers? Don't bass love nightcrawlers? I guess not. Suddenly, a streak was going- a somewhat impressive streak, for all the wrong reasons. 3 years without a fish.
2009: Earlier this month, redemption was upon us. Hagood (aka "The Bathunter") couldn't catch a cold. Me? I threw my pole in the water on a cast. After retrieving it, the next cast ended up in the shorts of my friend Tony. Perhaps a low-point in "Nuclear Fishin's" forgettable run? Well, if it's any consolation, I did receive a trophy.
Screw you, Mike (and Matt, and Mark...the other two "referees", who deemed me the pariah yet again).
Seriously, I hold the trophies in pretty high regard. In the end, it's all about fun, and my dubious distinctions are there to remind me that it's always a good idea to laugh at myself once in a while (or often, I guess).
My role in the day transcends bad fishing anyway. Being the only ones in the neighborhood left without kids, the wife and I host the after-party. While I tend to complain about it, I do enjoy it. Any excuse to have some friends over, crack some wine, eat something, and bust each others' chops all night is one worth using. For anyone who thinks drinking wine has to be a sophisticated affair, let the following pictures dismiss that immediately (if the orange tank-tops didn't already). Furthermore, like spotting a snow leopard in the wild, you- the audience- will get a rare glimpse into the disgusting glory that is a "Big Bite Contest":
A motley crew of some great friends, always worthy of a great bottle of wine. Ben, aka Bathunter, is quite a wine geek himself, as you can see by his infatuation with the glass of Petit Verdot.
St. Supery 2005 Petit Verdot...a concentrated, heavy-duty prelude to what was to come: Pizzapocaypse.
I think there were maybe 10 people there. We ordered 10 pizzas. And while Domino's is not my drug-of-choice in the world of pizza, they were $5 each, and happened to hit the spot at this late hour.
Some tasty single-vineyard Pinot Noir from Kokomo really worked well with the pizza. Really, anything worked well.
Great camera work, huh? I need a new one. Anyway, more Kokomo- this time, the Dry Creek Zin. Add sausage pizza. Enjoy. Repeat.
And of course, as promised, the infamous "Big Bite" contest...who's gonna eat a whole piece of pizza in one bite? The tension is palpable. So, to occasional gluttony as a comedic device, I say Cheers, Sláinte, Salud, Prost, Skål, Konbe, and Kampai!
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