“We’re having homemade pizza tonight,” I announced to Mr. Wonderful as we slid into our respective cars.
“I can’t hear you,” he said behind the car window.
“WE’RE HAVING HOMEMADE PIZZA—”
He pointed to his ears, shrugged and drove off to work.
I didn’t resent him for doubting me. We’d been down this road before without any success. Okay, with complete and utter failure. But this time I was prepared!
The ceramic bricks were loaded in my oven; Check!
The pizza stone was delivered; Check!
The toppings were bought; Check!
The last thing was making the pizza dough. Mama mia! This would be a snap!
I added the yeast, water and olive oil to the flour and kneaded it; back and forth on the floured countertop. I pounded it, slapped it, beat it. I made it suffer for the frustrations of my previous homemade pizza making. I kneaded that lump of dough so long my fingers wore down, the countertop evaporated and hell froze over. I let the dough rise, rolled it out and, covered it in toppings. Just as I slid the ‘za into the 550 degree + oven, Mr. Wonderful walked in the front door.
“What’s that smell?” he said sniffing the air like a hungry cheetah.
“Homemade pizza,”
“It’s delicious,”
“I made the pizza.”
“I heard you,” he said smiling.
Pulled fresh from the pizza oven we devoured a whole pizza. Yes, I'd kneaded my frustrations away and yes, he started listening to me. It was a good day.
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