Saturday night ritual

It wouldn't be a real Saturday night without pizza. The tradition started way back in the day. Mom would whip up packed pizza ala Contadina mixes. Usually she'd do two. There would always be some left over.

First thing Sunday morning I'd bundle newspapers together for my morning deliveries. Along with that first thing there would be cold pizza straight out of the refrigerator. Nothing like cold pizza on a Sunday morning. And the beer I'd sneak if I figured no one would miss it.  You do know that I was hell on wheels when I was younger, didn't you?


When you're 11 years old with a growing body it needs cold pizza and beer on a Sunday morning.

I don't remember which tasted better, the beer or the pizza. Had to be the beer.

So last night it was stack 'em on pizza night.

Tomatoes.

 



Onions, bell peppers.

Not pictured: Oregano. Marinara sauce. Olives. Mushrooms. Pepperoni. Cheese.

Trader Joes makes an outstanding pizza dough.  Buck fifty. Roll it out and flatten it with your hands on a cutting board sprinkled with flour. Put all your stuff on it and you're good.

Put cornmeal under the pizza.  Makes it easy to slide it off onto a pizza stone.  You have a pizza stone, don't you?

During hot summer days I place the stone on the barbecue.  Why heat up the house any more than it is?  Crank up the Q to about 400 degrees.  Takes about 10-12 minutes until it's ready to eat.

Heading to the lake early this morning for a bit of sailing.

Most head to church for their weekly dose of spirituality.  I find mine in other places.

There's nothing like being in nature to get in touch with yourself and in touch with the Lord.

Amen.

Now pass the cold pizza and beer, please.