Dinosaurs and Pizza Pie

  

   Two and nearly weaned Arthur spends half day once a week in my mother’s care. She comes to our house and I go off to market or do the laundry, or do nothing except make myself scarce otherwise he cries and clings and her visit is for naught.  

     Most weeks they walk to Pizzatown for slices. The pizza man cuts Arthur’s slice into bitesized pieces with his rolling cutter thing while mom folds her slice dabbing excess oil. Between bites she holds a paper cone of water to Arthur’s lips then rests it in the dented metal cup holder. She sips root beer and lets Arthur have a sip. I called Arthur the other day--a quarter century gone by and asked what he remembers of this time; it is the root beer.  

     When Arthur’s face and hands have been wiped they linger by the painted horse that  sings ‘It’s A Small World After All’ and Arthur rides and asks to ride again and sometimes Mom lets him. She twists a quarter in a gum ball dispenser filled with superballs and Arthur open the little door and catches the ball and carries it back up the block grasped tight in his little hands, his hands to his heart. 

    Arthur naps, mom reads the paper, after nap they play their game. They collect all the pillows from all the beds, couches, kitchen chairs, up and down the stairs, and then Babu (what Arthur calls her) buries Arthur under the pillows on the playroom couch making sure every bit of him is covered. She waits and waits and talks about waiting and waiting until Arthur can’t stand it anymore and slowly wiggles under the pillow heap. A foot emerges, an elbow and my mother coos in quiet wonder, then roaring and gnashing his teeth, arms curled into Tyrannosaurus hooks, Arthur crashes out scattering pillows in his wake. “Oh my, oh my” Babu frights, “so strong, so brave” and then they gather the pillows and begin again. In this way they while away the afternoon, in dead seriousness, no laughter, only crashing and roaring and gnashing of teeth. 

     She let him repeat this to his hearts content whereas I would have gone crazy from tedium after two or three rounds, and every time as we are putting away the pillows while Arthur is watching a video or having a snack, she explains with delight how the game is 'separation and individuation' made manifest. “His fierceness,” she exclaims, “his earnestness, wonderful”.

     When I was little we played a game on her bed, tumbling in her pillows and covers. The aim was to kiss each other’s gillygilly, our name for bellybutton. The one being kissed used hands, shoulders, pillows and shouts, anything that would prevent the kisser from reaching this goal. Mom was stronger but still I got her, and she got me. I could play this endlessly and have hardly since laughed so hard or worked with such determination as I did during the game’s repetitions. I laughed till it hurt. This is the loudest I remember us. In the game my mother and I are matched warriors locked in battle, quite different from the hatchling Arthur on his path towards independence. I had not been encouraged towards individuation. I was rewarded for staying entwined. 

     I am remembering these games while thinking about why cooking above all engages me with the fervor of child’s play, where I want to do it over and over, never tiring of repetition because every time it is new. Of course colors, tastes, variations, gratification, but I think it is that every dish holds a promise, as if this dish on this day will be exemplary and my abilities fully realized, and sometimes it is, sometimes I do achieve that, but it doesn’t last. The next day comes and with it another dish and I am the hatchling, fiercely, bravely emerging. My joy lies in the process, in the making. I want to feel it over and over, and I get to in the next meal and the next, the food becoming my patient loving mother who allows me to emerge. 

     Writing these words I see how immature a desire this is, forever hatching, but never becoming a grown dinosaur ready for adventures, leaving my mother behind.

     My mother cooked for solace. She made affordable fresh food and took few risks. She wasn’t particularly creative, there were few flourishes, it was as if pride had no place. She made honest uncomplicated food she could count on. Today’s chicken which was as good as last week’s would be good next time too--it didn’t matter if it was flavored with lemon or soy sauce or any other variation. It was the steadiness that soothed her and it was what I came to understand as love.

     This project of cooking dishes to find her again, tasting foods I associate with her, I haven’t found the joy filled mother I long for, instead I keep banging up against her sadness. The sadness was in her, its cloud enveloped her. She couldn’t climb out of it. She didn’t explain it. She didn’t love me enough to let it go. I couldn’t rescue her.  Shame, hurt and rage got bundled together and tucked inside of me. Like mother, like daughter I suppose. 

    That banished bundle bangs at my inner door, "Let me out, let me out." Whenever I speak I am talking over her noise. If you get close enough to where I think you might hear her too, I shoo you away. Like mother, like daughter I suppose. 

     I learned from my mother that making supper quiets the banging. The rhythm of the knife striking the cutting board, the sizzle of a sear. Scent and clatter soothes that beast. 

     Have my sons bundled their hurts inside themselves too? I can pick out behaviors in each of them that tells me this is so. Making suppers soothed me, maybe helping me to be a better mother. The way I fed them pleased and satisfied their hunger and it let them know my love, but it didn’t protect any of us from sadness. Will writing these words help open our doors? 

Pizza 

Once my boys were old enough to navigate the kitchen we made pizza once a week. Sometimes I’d make dough from scratch but I never figured out a recipe that was so much tastier than frozen supermarket dough to merit the extra work. Another possibility is to ask a local pizzeria to sell you a ball or two of dough. In our household instead of one big pizza each person rolled and topped their own mini pizza. One ball of store-bought dough can be divided to make three or four small pies. 

Patting, slapping, rolling, Arthur mastered throwing and spinning the disc in the air to stretch the dough. Whatever your technique, gluten in the dough seizes and the rolled dough contracts. To combat this roll the ball once (on top of a well floured board) let it rest 10-15 minutes and then roll it again. We like the crust rolled as thin as you can get it, and who cares if it come out round. Cover the discs with a clean dry towel so they don’t dry out.

Meanwhile, prepare the toppings, putting each one in a separate little bowl: sauté crimini mushrooms. Sauté spinach just enough to wilt it. Thinly slice some shallots. Slice a load of garlic and sauté in olive oil just enough to soften. Slice pepperoni or better yet tear strips of prosciutto. The list can go on and on: thinly sliced fennel, sliced fresh fig (or macerated dried ones), pitted olives, artichoke hearts, grilled strips of zucchini sprinkled with lemon zest, etc, etc. You want enough choices so each person can make a truly unique pizza. The thing to remember is to not overload your pie--you want each bite's ingredients to sing--you don't want a mountain of glop. 

Pull apart a ball of mozzarella cheese, the fresher the better. Drain some fresh ricotta. Shave a hard nutty cheese for balance; Parmesan, Manchego or even sharp cheddar. I use strained, pureed imported tomatoes but pretty much any sauce will do as you don’t use much of it, just stay away from ones that are full of sugar or additives because they taste bad, or ones that are too watery because you don’t want the dough getting all soggy.

Turn the oven up as high as it will go. Let it preheat a good half hour. If you have a pizza stone, great, if not, a sheet pan turned upside down will do. Let the stone or pan, or even a cast iron skillet get searing hot.

Transfer one disc of rolled dough to a rimless cookie sheet sprinkled generously with cornmeal. Shake the sheet back and forth to make sure the dough isn’t sticking. If it sticks, add more cornmeal. The dough must be able to slide with ease from the cookie sheet onto the burning hot pizza stone.  

Take a tablespoon of sauce and swirl it on to you dough, leaving a small un-sauced boarder. This is important because if the sauce dribbles onto the cookie sheet it will be harder to slide the pizza into the oven. Lay on some cheese—one kind or all three, or maybe you want a ‘white’ pizza, in which case leave off the sauce. Same thing with whichever toppings you choose. Use restraint. Distribute them equally across the surface. Wiggle the pan making sure the pizza still slides freely. Right before putting the pizza in the oven, guild the lily with a drizzle of high quality extra virgin olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt and a few grindings of black pepper. 

Only top your pizza when you are ready to put it in the oven! If you top it too soon before baking the moisture of the toppings makes the pizza stick to the cookie sheet and it gets super hard to transfer onto the hot pizza stone. Open you oven door, pull out the shelf with the stone on it as far as it safely pulls out and then wriggle the topped pizza onto the stone. Don’t worry that cornmeal flakes fall in the oven, they will quickly burn up. Don’t worry about making a bit of a mess. Keep an eye on your pizza, in 5 - 10 minutes tops you will have some blistering and char. Push it another minute past that and then using an offset spatula, coax the cooked pizza onto a plate (which you should have in your other hand, right at the edge of the stove shelf… I say this because trying to balance and lift the pizza from the stone without the plate at the ready can easily lead to disaster!) Let the pizza cool for a few minutes, otherwise all the toppings slide off in a mess. While the pizza is cooling, ready the next round of dough for the oven.

The best part is using the pizza wheel to cut slices for everyone to taste from each pizza. Before cutting, toss a few whole basil leaves on top of the warm pizza, or a handful of arugula, or a sprinkling of red pepper flakes. 

This is a meal we eat standing around, in fits and starts, everyone working and eating and talking, everyone contributing, everyone sharing each others pie.

Good side dishes include salad, sautéed broccoli rabe, seared Italian sausages (cook them in a cast iron skillet in the oven while the oven heats up) etc., etc.