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…and it was so much easier than I had ever imagined. Like, seriously, what was I waiting for?
Pizza is a near religious experience in our household. Before we’d even cemented our then-future daughter’s name, or color of her nursery, it had already been decided that Friday night would be family pizza night. Living in brownstone Brooklyn, the pick of pizza places can seem pretty luxurious. Want it delivered? There are no fewer than 25 places that are willing to deliver, half of which will serve you a pie worthy of a true pizza connossieur. Willing to get in the car? We’ve got the original Totonno’s in Coney Island, Jay Z-hangout Lucali, Man Vs. Food endorsed L & B Spumoni Gardens, NY Times 2 star rated Franny’s, and, of course, the pizza mecca itself, DiFara’s.
So why would I ever make one?
But then, this new pizza place opened in our ‘hood, Fornino, (which had garnered accolades for their original location in Williamsburg). Fornino’s pizza is grilled to a cracker-crisp perfection, and the lower heat on the grill allows them to top the pies with cheeses and vegetables that normally wouldn’t survive the heat of, say, an 800 degree coal burning oven. We’ve enjoyed their pizza on a few occasions, (and not just because of the offspring-friendly widely spaced tables or the fact that they are happy to store your folding stroller in a back room). On our last visit, however, an idea sprang forth into my sippy cup-addled brain.
“Why, I could grill a pizza at home!” So, I did.
We’ve been enjoying unseasonably warm weather in the big BK this past week, which has put a spring into my pregnant waddle, and apparently, Spring into my taste buds. It even inspired me to dust off the Kitchen Aid stand mixer one last time before our newest addition to the kitchen staff makes her way here…possibly in the next two days. That’s right, just two short days until the date that has been circled on the calendar for the past 9 months is upon us, which makes Husband an absolute wreck every time he sees my phone number on his caller ID, and makes me obsessively clean bathrooms while listening to Erasure. What Mama could really use is a good, stiff Grey Goose Gimlet, but today, she’ll settle for Crumb Cake.
But not just any Crumb Cake, mind you. If you are gonna do cake, you gotta do it right, and that means Barefoot Contessa style.
Well, I certainly hope none of you were searching for something light and healthy after gorging yourself this past weekend on stuffing and gravy. And apple crumb pie. And Bacon & Leek Potato Gratin. Wait…don’t I still have some of that hidden from Husband in the fridge? Back in a sec….
You’d think that the abundance of creamy carbs currently filling my system would make me desire something a little less stick-to-your-ribs than pasta with cream sauce, but, you see, there is another power at work here – a power that makes me pee at odd intervals (like 5x this past hour), burp loudly in mixed company, and crave nothing but carbs, morning, noon and night. This power also firmly plants its heel into my kidney at inappropriate times of day, and causes my body to experience all manner of “little miracles” that are best reserved for a forum other than a food blog. Trust me, there are some things you guys just don’t wanna know about.
My Husband Hates Veggies 