I, sadly, wasn't privy to the creation of our very first homemade 'za, but I was certainly there for the tasting. However the story goes something like this:
On Saturday afternoon we took a casual stroll the the Lincoln Center area Bed Bath and Beyond. The cultural apex of stuff. Man, is that store massive and overwhelming. Seriously I double dog dare anyone to walk through those doors and walk out empty handed. It's a nearly impossible feat. Thankfully we came equipped with a very generous gift card from my brother, so we didn't have to worry about giving into temptation and feeling the wrath from our checking accounts. Many items were picked up, however the most pertinent item to the telling of this story, was the decision to buy a pizza stone. For the low price of $14.99...that's amoré!
Jürgen wasted no time putting it to use, and he set out making the dough that very evening. I was working and could not be of service, so he flew solo into the land of yeast and flour. He let the dough rise in the oven, he rolled it out, he even added some thyme to the dough to give it a little depth of flavor. A brush of olive oil and garlic was spread across the pie, and some ground beef was sauteed and sprinkled over top of it followed by a mixture of cheese and some tomato's.
The directions on the pizza stone package said you should put it in the oven on 400˚ for ten minutes and allow the stone to heat up. This apparently aides in the cooking of the crust. Who's to say, regardless he followed the instructions like a good Boy Scout and after ten minutes time opened the oven to transfer the pizza to the stone. It was at this moment when our smoke alarm decided to have a mean bout of tourettes and go off every thirty seconds. For the next two hours. He tells me he stood there, oven open, with a blaring smoke alarm, and a pizza that is not allowing for an easy transfer from cooking sheet to pizza stone. Apparently he had to sort of ball up the dough to get it to move and fit on the stone and some cheese jumped flight in the middle and plummeted to it's death at the bottom of the stove. The alarm is still screeching obscenities which forces him to stand below it and wave an oven mit above his head to quiet it down. Of course it was at this very moment when I decided to call and let Jürg know I was almost home. Needless to say he was not in a very chipper mood. I don't blame him.
Regardless, when I walked through the door I was instantly greeted with warm wafts of garlic and herbs. The smoke alarm was sounding intermittently in the background, but the pizza was piping hot from the oven and looked beautiful. The crust was bubbly and golden brown, the cheese was nice and melty and the ground beef glistened....much like the beads of sweat atop Jürgen's forehead.
That's a purty piece o' pie
We sat down to eat and while he was still a bit tense I told him how truly yummy it was, and promised to help him next time.
Oh the alarm was still going off at this point, despite the open windows and the fan running. The kitties were not pleased.
We have decided to make Friday's our pizza nights, as I am free an can be a sous chef. If anyone has any pizza making tips, or recipes we are all ears! In the meantime I am going to disconnect the smoke alarm.