Alt Pizza

We’re having pizza for lunch at our daughter’s house. She says she’s going to do it on the grill.

Not what I expected.

My wife and I often buy a pizza dough at the Italian market when we go for goodies. We have one in the freezer right now. Thaw it, roll it, mark it with a P.  Then put it in the oven, heated to 500F. Our preference is a white-pizza-foccaccia, with olive oil and sea salt and rosemary. Good for sandwiches layered with aforementioned goodies.

Continue reading “Alt Pizza”

Rabbit Relax

rabbit

Two words, a friend of mine’ll get a little crazy.

“Bone broth.”

We have a box of it in the fridge.  (Yes, a box.) It came in handy this morning. I’ve got some rabbit quarters on the stove, cooking long and low and slow.  

Olive oil and garlic (the more of the latter the better), salt and pepper, fresh rosemary. They brown gently, front and back, getting a tan in the pan.  Some white wine extends the cook, quarter cup, turning those rabbit quarters every 20-30 minutes to avoid stickage.  Continue reading “Rabbit Relax”

If I Were a Chicken Thigh

IMG_8350

This is how I would want to be cooked. Lay me down in olive oil and onion.

I woke up today thinking about olives. It was 4:00 a.m., my usual time to wake up thinking about something. This morning it was olives, and lunch. Confession: I often wake up thinking about lunch.

A fond reminiscence in our family is how food-oriented my father-in-law was; well, a better word is obsessed. He too often awoke with food on his mind and began planning the mid-day meal before his head even left the pillow.  He would turn to Rose, my mother-in-law, and  say to her, whispering quietly so as not to disturb her rest, “Ro, do you think we should defrost that chicken for lunch today?” It pissed her off. He too, I should add, was inclined to wake up early. She would harrumph, Sta Zitto, Gigi. Che piaga! Translating roughly to: What a pain in the ass you are.  He would roll out of bed and head for the kitchen. Continue reading “If I Were a Chicken Thigh”