Pizza strips

Maybe you have to grow up in Italian Rhode Island to appreciate something generously called “pizza strips,” which bear no reasonable resemblance to pizza, but at least they are strips. The are sold at the check out line in gas station convenience stores in stacks, separated by wax paper, in brown pastry boxes. They ostensibly are minimally seasoned spaghetti sauce on thin dough. Yet, somehow, they are favorites among niche eaters, including my daughter the chef.
When she tried to explain this to her co-workers at Alavita, they dismissed it as a breadstick variety, but Becky was undeterred. She found a recipe, purchased the needed ingredients, and made two sets: one for the staff, and another for niche food junkie and boyfriend Russ. Becky had two expectations: the foodies work would pick on her and Russ would devour them.
I am sure she thought there might be some crossover, but could not have predicted the speed with which the foodies would devour them … while picking on her at the same time.
Noma may have exotic haute cuisine. Saffron may cost $100 an ounce, but the pure joy on the faces of foodies fueled by humble pizza strips is priceless.

Stuffed with love

I have started following several cooking blogs – actually, they followed me and I found their posts quite interesting. I am not brave enough to re-post yet, but may try that soon. The writers are young women, like Becky, but a little older, from Spain and Australia, working with exotic ingredients in elite restaurants.
While my daughter the chef is on her way to reaching those points, I think what impresses me is her ability to exercise extraordinary patience in offering ordinary dishes. For example, this week, on her day off, she admitted that she didn’t feel like cooking. Yet, she scanned the fridge and using some quick culinary calculations, put together plans for homemade pizza. The only thing I needed to pick up on the way home was cheese.
Leftovers eliminated included pasta sauce, thin steak, chorizo, roasted peppers and summer squash. She chopped up then browned some pork stew meat which I defrosted the day before. Then she made her own crust and dinner was just awaiting some cheese.
Oh, and if that wasn’t enough, she even stuffed the crust on Joyce and my pizza with cheese. Extra work done just for us.
She still enjoys the exotic and challenging sides of cooking, using ingredients I have never heard of and techniques that make no sense at all. But I will always be grateful that she has never forgotten the most basic element she learned from her earliest days: love.