I seem to have passed on the gene for pizza. Sam loves it, worships it, might even eat it over candy although I won't guarantee that.
I make them sometimes, a very thin crust type, that make me moan with pleasure every time I have them. Yes, pizza is the way to my heart.
This morning I made the crust. Sam's been "helping" me make pizza for the last couple of years but today, for the very first time, he made one for himself that turned out to be something other than a blob. He rolled it out, spread on the sauce, placed the cheese (hey, at least the cheese met our local foods goal) and made a face of pepperoni.
I put it in the oven for him because I'm mean when it involves a 500 degree oven.
The result?
Greasy deliciousness. Sam ate his entire pizza and another five pieces after that.
Now I've got to teach him to make the dough and then I'll pass the pizza making torch onto my kidlet in hopes he'll cook on demand.
He told us "When I grow up I want to be a chef." "I'll live at home!"
Ben and I high fived each other. Our own personal chef!
2 comments:
yum!!! NOw you've done it. I have to make that pizza tomorrow.
Hehe. Hope you get a live-in chef. If all he made was pizza, you'd be happy, right? Even though your arteries might not be so happy.
Hey, it's very thin crust! arteries should be hunky dory.
Sam's pizza is beautiful.
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