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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.
Who doesn’t love pizza? There are blogs and websites dedicated solely to it, numerous Food Network specials highlighting it, and I challenge you to find a grammar school in this country that isn’t serving it for lunch on a Friday. It’s something everyone, young and old, has an opinion on. Whether the crust should be thick or thin, plain or with toppings, heavy sauce or heavy cheese. I had a really bad Algebra teacher in High School that liked to joke with the students that the things all people had in common were sex, the weather, and taxes – (kind of an odd joke considering half our teachers were nuns, and none of us were old enough to be paying taxes). It would have made much more sense if he had just said that what we all had in common was the weather, and pizza (I mean, even the guys in the A.V. Club had all had pizza).