Pizza is for summer

Pizza from the grill

For my children, pizza was nothing special. It was the one meal my husband could prepare for the kids, and by prepare, I mean he could take them to the local pizzaria and order. Pizza is cheap. Pizza is popular. Pizza is timeless.

That wasn't always the case, however. In the 1950s, there were few pizzarias. It was peasant food, prepared at home. 'Mericans (the word my family used to describe those unfortunate people who did not share our Italian heritage, accent on the last syllable, soft a) didn't know about pizza, or if they did, they weren't interested. Yet.

My great-grandmother only made pizza during the summer when tomatoes were fresh. I'm not sure if she preferred fresh tomatoes or if pizza was a way to use up some of her garden's bounty without canning. Regardless of the reason, Grandma would start making pizza early in the day. Yeast was not fool-proof back then, and it certainly wasn't instant, so it took a long time for the dough to rise. If she was going to make pizza, she was going to MAKE PIZZA, enough to feed us and all the neighbors, seven or eight big slabs of Neopolitan-style pizza, large rectangles of thick crust, topped with fresh tomato sauce (not tomato slices) redolent of garlic and basil, and grated sharp cheese (no stringy mozzarella, thank you very much). Now that was pizza.

This was a meal we could eat on Fridays (remember, before Vatican II, every Friday was meatless). There were no toppings on Grandma's pizza. It was delicious just the way it was, hot from the oven or cold the next day. And it was meant to be shared.

After Grandma died, we didn't get homemade pizza very often. Luckily, her paisana Philomina still made pizza, and when she did, she would share with us. I can remember going to her house to get the pizza to bring home-she and her husband Fortunato were teeny, not even five feet tall, and their house was sized for them. As a little girl, I felt as if I was going into a doll house with child-sized cabinets and furniture. I still associate pizza with this fairy-tale house. Instead of gingerbread, this house was infused with the smells I associated with my great-grandmother, the smells of rising dough, of simmering tomato sauce, of sharp garlic, of herby basil. These were the aromas of summer, if you were Italian.

By the time I started school, pizzerias started to open, and my father would pick up a couple of pizzas and a stromboli for dinner on Friday night to give my mother a break from cooking for nine people every meal, seven days a week. These pizzas were different. They were round, not rectangular. They were thin and crisp, not thick and crusty. They were topped with mozzarella, not sharp cheese. And there were toppings, mushrooms and pepperoni and sausage and anchovies. It was pizza, but not PIZZA.

Who knows why, but eventually I tried my hand at making pizza like Grandma used to make. Of course, I made more than my family could eat at a single meal, but no one complained. Soon my brothers were inviting their friends for pizza. This pizza was a marriage of old and new. It was still thick and crusty, but in addition to sharp cheese, I would pile on shredded mozzarella. I added toppings. And I made it winter, spring, summer, and fall.

Once I got married, I continued to make pizza. Our children would invite their friends for homemade pizza. To this day, their friends drop broad hints that they are hungry for my pizza. It was this tradition that made me write the book Pizza Friday.

On hot summer days when tomatoes are ripe, I think of pizza. I think of Grandma. And I think of tradition.

Bon Appétit!

April showers bring May flowers—and vegetables!

Last week brought the return of my favorite farmers and artisans to the local farm market. Beautiful spring weather brought out familiar faces that I’ve missed over the winter, even if I don’t have names to go with the faces. At the East Goshen Farmers Market, I was spoiled for choice, both for spring crops and for Mother’s Day presents. Asparagus, kale, leeks, green onions, new potatoes, arugula, lettuces provided inspiration for several banquets. Chocolates and cakes and cookies and waffles and bread satisfied everyone's hunger for sweets and starches. Dog lovers could indulge their favorite pooch with treats or immortalize a pampered pet with a custom portrait. There was even a stand with hand-sewn aprons, potholders and bags.

Grandmom Ancone

While I look forward to going to the market, my great grandmother depended on her own resources to supply her family with produce. The season’s bounty was that much fresher because it came straight from the garden. Grandmom would gather her harvest in her apron and tote it into the kitchen where she would perform her alchemy. The first sign of spring in our house were the fresh greens. She would forage for the first tender dandelions and for broccoli rabe, and her garden produced tiny, tender leaves of spring lettuce long before they became a gourmet specialty. Baby onions were turned into an omelet within hours of being plucked from her garden. The eggs came from her own hens. We nibbled on fresh peas as we shelled them, but she would save enough to add them at the last minute to her veal stew.

My mother continues the tradition of her grandmother-in-law, and she plants a kitchen garden, but much of her harvest goes to the deer that live on her property. She enjoys gardening, though, and doesn’t begrudge the animals their share.

I only dabble. I have a collection of fresh herbs growing in pots on the deck and one lonely tomato plant surrounded by garden lettuce that I look forward to harvesting soon and dressing lightly with my great-grandmother’s vinaigrette. She would drizzle olive oil over the leaves, toss, add a splash of vinegar made from homemade wine and a generous pinch of salt, toss again, and taste and adjust until it tasted right. 

My only change is that I put the dressing ingredients in the bottom of a bowl that I’ve rubbed with the cut end of a clove of garlic. Oh, and I add a dollop of Dijon mustard, which helps emulsify the vinegar and olive oil. You can get fancy and mash in an anchovy or two, or you can add a handful of fresh herbs, or you can substitute balsamic vinegar or lemon juice for the red wine vinegar. Use a fruity olive oil, or experiment with the various nut oils, but don't substitute vegetable oil. Olive oils are heart healthy, and a tablespoon will dress enough lettuce for two to four people. The loss of flavor isn't worth any caloric savings! 

If you feel a need to measure, the ratio of vinegar to olive oil is 1:2 (1 tablespoon vinegar to 2 tablespoons of olive oil, for example). Three tablespoons of dressing is enough to dress a huge salad--you don't want to drown those tender lettuce leaves!