Ok, ok, so this dinner really isn’t the epitome of health, but it was Super Bowl Sunday and Kenny suggested we do it up Philadelphia take-out-style. But, since we obviously aren’t in Philadelphia, this meant making it from scratch.
When we first married, Kenny and I made homemade pizza a lot. It was fun and we felt fancy. But it took forever. These days, I prefer as close to effortless as possible, so I feel fun and fancy ordering some slices on Fridays. That’s good enough. No need to overachieve. Haha.
That was a long way of saying that homemade slices were a special treat. So special, in fact, that it took me four hours to pull together.
I started the process of making the pies at about 2 p.m. I needed a few hours for the dough to rise, etc. I didn’t finish up until about 6:15 p.m. And I am pretty sure I didn’t spend more than a collective 20 minutes outside of the kitchen during that period – haha. We decided on two pies – one deep dish meatball, one plain. We’d also make one cheesesteak to share (I normally only eat a bite or two…so that leaves most for Kenny.)
I made the meatballs and sauce for the deep dish.
I made the plain sauce for the regular pizza.
I hand shredded the sharp provolone. And tore the fresh mozzarella.
I punched down the dough. And let it rise back again.
I hand sliced already thin cuts of beef for the cheese steak for more authenticity. And hand sliced the rolls.
Kenny helped roll out the dough for the plain pies. And shape the deep dish dough for the meatball pie.
And I spent over an hour carmelizing two onions in between it all. (I know this is way more West Coast-y than the traditional East Coast fried, but I had the time to let them sit.)
We put the two pizza stones into the oven to heat them as the oven heated to 500 degrees. Which set off the smoke alarm. Three times.
Gavin had a friend over, and the two of them ran down the steps screaming. Only the first time, though. The second time they laughed and yelled…a lot. By the third time, I think they were more annoyed than Kenny who was rally-toweling it up in the staircase after he opened all the windows and doors. (For those of you who might forget, he perfected his rally-toweling last year.) I thought it’d be nice to invite Gavin’s friend for dinner after terrifying / deafening him. So he stayed, and he ate the pizza.
Hahaha. Listen, I am not perfect. But I try hard. If you’re a regular reader, you know this by now. You have to expect a story with my food. And then you have to hope it’s cooked. Or not charred.
On a side note, the regular dough made enough for two pies. But, since my cheffing m.o. is normally cooking enough to feed an army, the realization that I was making three pies for four people didn’t really sink in until AFTER we were done and I still had two whole pizzas left. Haha.
And then I danced.
Because I had enough for dinner the next day, too – woo hoo!
* * * * *
Like goingwestcoastal on Facebook and never miss a post!