In addition to getting through the week without ordering takeout, we wanted to get through the week without an emergency trip to the market–and to use things that were already in the fridge.
“This pizza dough has to be used this week,” she said. “And this sauce.”
After a long day of office time and rehearsals, I headed for the train station to collect her, but I was late; she started walking and was almost home by the time I caught up with her. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of the brutally hot and humid days we’d had during production week; still, she was ready for a shower.
I didn’t want to use the oven and heat the kitchen, so I gathered everything I needed, took it to the deck, and lit the grill. The dough stretched beautifully, the coals were ready, the grill-grate was clean and ready. I oiled the dough and laid it out gently, per instructions.
She came to the deck, refreshed and happy. We talked for a moment. Well, maybe two moments. However long it was, it was just longer than it takes for pizza dough to go from beautiful to charred black.
We put the pizza toppings on leftover rice, heated it in the microwave, and called it a day. Just not a pizza.