Nicholas has recently determined a new hobby.  I came home one day to a variety of packages at the front door and Nicholas was giddy with excitement.  We unpacked an exorbitant amount of pizza making supplies–a couple of peels, a huge pizza stone, a dough slicer, metal containers for each dough ball, double-zero flour imported from Italy, an oven temperature gun, dough starter…the list goes on.  I can’t remember where I was when he decided to order all this stuff, but I do remember the excitement in his voice when he told me he ordered a “few” things.

We used to make pizza with Publix dough on the grill, but after his pizza shopping spree he changed the technique.  One night I found him sitting on the floor in front of the oven with a hack saw and pliers.  He had decided to dismantle the lock on the oven so that we could set it to cleaning mode and cook pizza at 800 degrees.  I thought he had lost his mind.

He made his first round of home made dough with precision and attention like I’ve not seen in the kitchen.  Flour coated every possible surface, but he had 3 beautiful dough balls at the end of the flurry, and enough starter to continually “feed” and use indefinitely.  Our first pizza party was a smashing success.  We took all the necessary precautions with tin foil over the oven glass and under the stone and then fired the first pie.  It was quite literally fired, as we scorched it a bit too long, and quickly realized that 2 minutes would do the trick.

We had pizza every few nights for a little while, and the pizza cutter was constantly in the dishwasher; we’ve throttled back a bit now to about once a week, but the excitement hasn’t faded.  He’ll announce, “I think I’ll make some dough tonight” in a very serious tone as if he were entering in on nation secrets.  He refuses to wear an apron and is somehow always dressed in black for his flour debut, but I love that he takes his pat-a-pat-pat on each so seriously, with no mind to the excessive effort or mess.  My favorite is pancetta, garlic, buffalo mozzarella, and purple basil, and I’m thrilled to announce that my task is merely to shop for the ingredients and clean up the mess.  Life is good when you’re married to the Pizza Man.