I love to see how a raw pizza dough doubles upon the reaction of active yeast. The exultation this activity of cooking yields is inexplicable, and the distraction from normal stress is a pleasure to keep this passion burning. Today, I decided that we would have something casual and fun for dinner, to escape the finer rituals of setting the table of chopsticks and all. Let's dine using our fingers, and pizza would be it.
I hate to make choices. Skipped to the conclusion that nobody will hold grudge against the idea of having the choice of all, as long as one can be exempted from the participation in the making, it became easy to arrive to the decision of having an assortment of 3 distinct toppings. Why 3? No reason. All that my brain can think of now.
Kneading the pizza dough was no tough chore. Preparation of the ingredients was another melodic stint. I had the 3 irregular Italian bread spread over with a generous topping of seafood, ham and mushroom, and tuna with cilantro and roma tomatoes. Sweet aroma filled the hot kitchen, and triggered the hungry pangs in our stomach. We worked in haste to bring out the sizzling pizzas, and missed the mannerism to open the bottle of Merlot with grace.
Awaiting around the dining table, we clanked our glasses and blabbed folly wishes before giving way to our jaws and tooth to start the laboring. We were silent, our eyes squinting with desirous delight. What wonders a bread can do indeed, to enliven a lazy evening. The rest of the night was filled with laughter and content.
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