Small Town Dispatch: Pizza Party

 

Nashville Farmer's Market

    At the top of the month, I made my house guests a pizza from scratch. My bread machine kneaded the dough as we re-inflated the air mattress and arranged ourselves across it long-ways like sardines. We ate our slices on paper plates while watching Night at the Museum II. The crust was oddly puffy, each slice standing at least an inch and a half tall.
    The following week, while sitting by the river sipping milkshakes, a different friend recounted the harrowing tale of starting her own pizza dough too late in the day, being deliriously tired by the time the pie came out of the oven, grabbing it without mitts, and promptly slinging it across the room. I asked her for her dough recipe. The crust was thin and crisp, pretty much perfect.
    At this weekend’s farmer’s market, my neighbors and I discussed weekend plans, and wouldn’t you know- Laurie was making a big batch of pizza dough this weekend. That afternoon, she called me over to pick up a ziplock baggie of frozen dough, a ziplock baggie or cornmeal, and a ziplock baggie of fresh basil. I haven’t made a pizza with any of it yet, but I bet it’s going to be pretty darn good.
    I’m pizza rich. Somehow dough has become my touchstone for interactions, a throughline between all my social circles. “My neighbor Laurie told me to use a food processor… Erin drizzles the oil….don’t use cornbread mix in place of cornmeal…” I know more about pizza dough now than I ever planned to, yet I have a feeling I’ll learn more before the month is out.