Put it on the Pizza: Part III

Putting it on the pizza is always a good time, whether you're surrounded by friends or just spending a lovely summer evening in solitude. I found myself in the latter of those situations this weekend, and putting it on the pizza seemed like perfect way to further enjoy my already sublime summer day. After all, a day of lying in the sun, reading, and swimming can really take a lot out of a girl.

But what to put on the pizza? I had two ideas, so I decided to just split the pizza into two different toppings. On one side I mixed together tomato sauce with Sirracha and spread a thin layer of the dough (store-bought, if you're wondering. I was going to make my own dough but got lazy). Then I topped it with mozzarella, provolone, and veggie-sausage that I'd found in the fridge.

The other side of the pizza got a liberal helping of fresh basil and garlic pesto, covered in sliced mushrooms, grilled chicken, green peppers, red onions, tomato slices, feta, mozz, and kalamata olives.

When I placed the pizza on the grill I cracked an egg on top of the side with the Sirracha sauce. Beautiful.

Unfortunately by the time the egg was cooked the dough had burnt a bit, but otherwise it was delicious. The yolk on the Sirracha side was perfectly cooked (or not cooked, rather), and it oozed out delicately over the sauce, cheese, and dough. The other side with pesto and chicken was also delightful--nice, garlicky, and satisfying without being overly heavy. 

I sat down, enjoyed some pizza, finished re-reading Hemingway's The Garden of Eden, sipped a glass of red wine, and soaked in the late summer evening. Then the doorbell rang.


I'd been cupcaked. (To be continued...)

Ernest Hemingway and a Simple Taste of Life

The other night I was lying in bed, feeling somewhat unfulfilled and restless. But what to do? There were many possibilities at hand, but I found myself burdened with an inability to decide. As I stared up at the smooth, white ceiling and felt the down comforter like a cloud below me, I realized exactly what I needed: Ernest Hemingway.

Truly, when all else fails, there is nothing that Hemingway and a glass of red wine can’t fix. A Moveable Feast was plucked from the bookshelf, and I lay back down to read. Immediately I was absorbed, transported across the ocean and back in time to Paris in the 1920s. I joined Hemingway in cafes—we read, wrote, sipped wine and beer, ate oysters, and met with Gertrude Stein and Sylvia Plath. We observed James Joyce eating with his family at Michaud’s and experienced debauchery on a road trip with F. Scott Fitzgerald. There was magic and there was love, and we were one with Paris.

Hemingway was a man who cherished everyday, concrete moments and who was described by Fitzgerald as possessing the “quality of a stick hardened in the fire.” These distinctive qualities and his straightforward, concise language defined his novels and characters. Food and eating certainly played large roles in the crafting of his stories, offering everyday moments to ground one’s self in as the modernity of the twentieth century rushed in from all directions. The relationships in his works are often built upon everyday moments—the eating of a sandwich, the taste of a sip of white Capri wine, and the feel of a woman’s body between sheets.

The first time my younger sister tried to read what is perhaps my favorite of all of Hemingway’s novels, The Sun Also Rises, she remarked, “It seems like all they do is go to cafes and drink and eat.” Well, yes. That’s kind of the point isn’t it? The characters use consumption and pleasure to deal with post-World War I society. Rather than focusing on the war, the unfortunate sexual effects it had on the main character, Jake Barnes, and the fact that the woman he loves, Lady Brett Ashley, sleeps with other men, instead they drink and they eat. Jake and Brett cannot consummate their love, but they can induce pleasure with food and numb themselves with alcohol. As they seek an authentic existence in a society dealing with the disillusioning effects of World War I, it is only through the basic, human acts of eating and drinking that they can find meaning in their daily lives.

And perhaps Hemingway was onto something here. Don’t we still often turn to food and eating in the midst of a rapidly changing society and uncertain times? Isn’t it a glass of wine or a slice of bread that can help us deal with the external world? When all else fails, for me there’s always Hemingway, and for many of us there’s always a bite of food or sip of drink that can reaffirm a sense of meaning and authentic experience in our lives. So cheers to the one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century—Ernest Hemingway, this simple taste of life is all for you.

“As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.”

—Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast 

Quote of the Week: Remorse

"It's a very strange thing," he said. "This drink tastes exactly like remorse. It has the taste of it and yet it takes it away."

--David Bourne on absinthe in Ernest Hemingway's The Garden of Eden

If You Could Have a ____ with Anyone, Who Would it Be?

Last night while I neared the end of Anthony Bourdain’s The Nasty Bits I began to ponder what it would be like to meet him. I would be walking down the streets of New York City with no particular destination in mind, and then he would appear—just standing on the sidewalk. “Tony!” I would call out as though we were old friends, running up to him to introduce himself. He would look to me and smile. After becoming enamored by my charming personality he would of course accept my offer to grab a pint at some local dive. I would select something like Guinness—rich, dark and smooth, savoring every sip as we chatted about life, traveling, and food. Because if there’s anyone I’d like to have a beer with, it’s Anthony Bourdain.

So this whole fantasy got me thinking—well, yes, I’d like to sit down and have a beer with Bourdain, but what if it was a cup of tea? a glass of wine? a mug of coffee? a taste of sake? a classic cocktail? And that got my mind and stomach rolling in a whole new direction.

Let’s start with tea. First, I think I need to break this down into two varieties—green and black. Both types of tea evoke different experiences and hence different ideal companions. 

Green tea I associate with Asia and Buddhism, and therefore my childhood. When I was in third grade my teacher had the class select the three people, alive or dead, who we wanted to meet—Buddha was definitely on my list, so let’s leave him there with our beverage of choice as green tea. Or if he’s not available I’ll go with Isabella Stewart Gardener, so long as we drink the tea during one her wacky Japanese tea ceremonies in Boston during the Gilded Age.

For black tea it’s George Orwell all the way. Ever since I read his essay “A Nice Cup of Tea” I’ve always associated Orwell with this drink. We would sit in and English garden and follow his eleven points for making the perfect cup, carrying on a nice chat about whatever someone like Orwell likes to talk about.

Wine is also an easy choice—Ernest Hemingway. Hem and me would sit in the heat of a Spanish summer and quaff red wine from wine skins with abandon. It would be very The Sun Also Rises, sans the whole impotency thing.

F. Scott Fitzgerald should be on this list somewhere, but what would we drink? Probably anything.

My cocktail of choice is a martini made with Bombay Sapphire gin served slightly dry, straight up, and with olives. There’s only one companion for a drink like that—Humphrey Bogart. Well, either Bogie or Blair Waldorf, depending on the topic of conversation and whether or not fictional characters are allowed.

For sake I’d like to be in beautiful Kyoto with Iron Chef Morimoto. We might not be able to communicate much, but we would sip on our Japanese rice wine as he prepared clean and fresh traditional sushi.

Then there’s coffee, but I just can’t seem to decide…There’s no individual who particularly screams coffee for me right now, so I’ll have to keep pondering that one.

We’ve all got those people in the world we’d like to meet, but under what circumstances and over what drinks? The people on the list don’t have to be ones you admire the most or even find particularly interesting—they should just be the people you feel most suited to consume a particular beverage with. So, if you could sit down and have a ____ with anyone, who would it be?

Quote of the Week: This Wine is too Good for Toast-Drinking

"I say. You might open it," Brett suggested.

"Yes, my dear, now I'll open it."

It was amazing champagne.

"I say that is wine," Brett held up her glass. "We ought to toast something. 'Here's to royalty.'"

"This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don't want to mix emotions up in a wine like that. You lose the taste."

Brett's glass was empty.

—Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

Quote of the Week

"As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans."

—Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast