Apizza

Go to the grocery store last night and I didn’t know what I was buying. Some of everything but afterwards the run and shoot Kitchen offence was one of those divine rhythms otherwise reserved to art.

Everything that crossed the counter-top could do no wrong, ingredients just assembled themselves. Tomatoes into sauce, herbs and onions onto beans, brocs, shrooms, shredded carrots, kale, cheddar, Colby, moz all tumbled outta grocery bags across cutting boards under knives and onto spinning olive oil soaked dough. The oven warrants preheating this whole time (as high as it’ll go), especially if you’re living in an Antarctic apartment like those of us who are trying to beat last October’s heating bill with a sans heat strategy.

The wheels, to borrow a term if I may, blaze. Were talking five alarm. To add some kerosene, we chased that baby with some chocolate chip ricotta roll but that’s deserving of a post unto itself. For some omega-3 fatty acids, half a Za, (or due to the shape of our pans: rectangles), got some Mahi-Mahi.

The fat lady sings…