Reincarnation and Meatball Pizza

Part I

I've narrowed it down. In my past life I was either 1.) a cat, or 2.) a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

I say cat because my lifestyle is very similar to a cat's (a housecat, not any kind of jungle running creature, unless, of course, I've been drinking and there's tall grass around. But that's a story for another time.).


Think about it. I hate almost everybody, I sleep all day. I rarely bathe and I meow pretty frequently. Well, maybe that's where it ends. I can't jump high. And I can't get my nails that sharp, either. Hmph.


But, last summer when I attempted to make homemade bread for the first time (an epic failure!), and the recipe said that I needed to knead the dough, I did it exactly how I'd seen my cats do it in the past. I may have even purred. Later, when I was troubleshooting why my bread-baking endeavor had been such a failure, I asked Cassie how she kneads dough. Dummy me, though, first showed her how I did it--movements that mimicked how my old cat Elvis used to seduce my Alf doll. (Also a story for another time.) Apparently, I was way off with my kneading methods. Also, apparently you're not supposed to purr whilst kneading bread dough. Who knew?

If I wasn't a cat, I was likely a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle in my past life. I say this because 1.) I can kick really high, 2.) I'm dynamite with nunchakus, and 3.) I could eat pizza all day every day for the rest of my life.

Part II

Yesterday, after doing a brief inventory of the pantry and refrigerator (It's almost grocery shopping time, so we're running low on just about everything), I got a bug up my ass that I was going to make meatball pizza. (Matt scoffed, by the way, and the face he made when I told him said that he was "less than enthusiastic.") He wasn't a skeptic for long; let's just put it that way. With the help of Food Network Magazine, Cassie, and Paul Newman, we had ourselves a tasty, tasty dinner.

Whisk flour and salt in a big bowl.

I just don't understand yeast. The word itself grosses me out. But I had to put a well in my flour mixture and then add warm water and yeast, and then wait for the yeast to foam.

When, after a few minutes, it looked like this, I decided that it was GTG.

And then I added the oil and a bunch of pizza seasoning.

And I took to kneading. It was wet and sticky, and I couldn't get any pictures of the process because my hands were completely covered in dough. But I ended up with this, a ball of dough that then had to sit for an hour and a half to expand. It doubled in size! (Just like me when I stopped waiting tables and started teaching!)

While waiting for the dough to rise, I made up some turkey meatballs. Pretty simple, much more lean than ground beef, and you won't need to grab a handful of Tums after eating them.

While waiting (I mean, it's going to be another hour and a half or so before the pizza's ready), I recommend snacking on some Sour Patch Kids. Just try not to eat so many that the sour sugar eats away your tastebuds. (When I was 16--and let's be honest, several times after that--I ate a pound of Sour Patch Kids, so many that my tongue was bleeding. My tongue was completely raw for the better part of a week. What the hell is wrong with me?)

I can't even look at Sour Patch Kids without salivating. PS--Mitch likes them, too.

But back to meatballs, and pizza. Pioneer Woman suggested putting the tray of meatballs into the freezer before browning them so that they would stay together better, a I'll be damned if she wasn't right. Oh, Pioneer Woman. . .

I browned the meatballs in a dutch oven with Newman's Own Five Cheese tomato sauce. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, meatballs. . .

At this point it's a good idea to invite over your friend Cassie who's the best cook you know in real life, and who makes pizza once a week, to help you.

Roll out the dough. (Or have Cassie do it.)

And put it on giant pizza pan (15" diameter--$4 at Target!). Or have Cassie do it.

Brush with olive oil.

The meatballs will look something like this, by the way.

Cassie tip: put very thinly sliced onions UNDERNEATH the sauce. She says it makes them sweeter and more delicious. I concur.

Add freshly shredded mozzarella. (Cheese tastes better when you shred it yourself.)

Bake for 10-15 minutes, until the crust starts to brown, and then add sliced meatballs, and maybe a little parmesan if you're feeling frisky.

And then bake for another 5-10 minutes, until it's a beautiful golden brown and you just can't wait any longer.

And then bask in the glory of your success.

Meatball Pizza!

Dough:

3 3/4 cups flour

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1 tablespoon sugar

1 packet yeast

1 1/3 cups warm water

3 tablespoons olive oil

Meatballs: (all estimates--I think they're different every time I make them)

1 pound ground turkey

1/2 onion, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic

1 egg

parmesan cheese

cracker crumbs, bread crumbs, whatever

kosher salt

black pepper

crushed red pepper

thyme

basil

You'll also need some pizza sauce--homemade or store-bought or whatever you want--and some cheese. I used a block of mozzarella, but I imagine that you could use fresh mozzarella and it would be pretty awesome.

INSTRUCTIONS:

Dough: (Adapted from Food Network Magazine)

Whisk flour and salt in a large bowl. Make a well and add the water, sugar, and yeast. When that becomes foamy, mix in three tablespoons olive oil and some tasty seasonings, and knead until smooth, about five minutes. Brush with olive oil and cover in a bowl; let rise until doubled, about 90 minutes.

Meatballs:

Mash everything together with your hands. Roll into balls. Put in freezer for 5-10 minutes. Heat up pan (I used a dutch oven) and add some oil, brown the meatballs. Add some sauce, cover, and cook on medium, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes or so.

The culmination:

Roll out dough to fit pan. (You could actually make two pizzas with this amount of dough, but we went with one giant one.) Brush with olive oil. Add sauce and cheese. Bake for 10-15 minutes. While that's baking, slice up meatballs. Remove pizza from oven, add meatballs. Bake for another 5-10 minutes.

Then take lots of pictures and email them to your friends just to make them jealous.

Meow!

Mitch hates cats. He hates them because they hate him, because he doesn't understand them, and because every time he interacts with one bad things happen (like scratches and hisses and knocked over furniture).

I like to torment Mitch. So, a few years back, I started to meow at him (and I'm a pretty damned good meower if I do say so myself). Initially, my meowing would elicit one of those so-cute-I-could-just-die-happy inquisitive looks from the pup, but he slowly caught on, realizing that I am his birth mother and not a cat.

But my meows continued, even though Mitch went pretty quickly from inquiry, to being annoyed, to completely ignoring me. So now when I meow, it is to entertain me and Matt. (For Matt it hearkens back to a time in our youth when, after imbibing excessively, I would pounce around the yard in the tall grass on my hands and knees, claiming to be a jungle cat.)
So, when I'm at home, I'll sporadically meow. Matt will laugh and Mitch will do his best to ignore me.
Now, though, I am feeling like my little joke has gone too far. This evening I was sitting at my "How To Teach Gifted Kids" class, preparing for a presentation with my group when--completely unprovoked--I let out a soft meow.

Is there some sort of twelve-step program for this?

Frenemies

Do you listen to This American Life? If you don't, you should probably start. It's pretty much the best radio show that's ever been. It's actually a TV show now, too, on Showtime. Both are smart, witty, moving--the works. Each week the producers pick a theme, and then provide a variety of stories on that theme. Don't think for a second that it's boring.

One of the more recent episodes was on the theme of Frenemies (listen to it here). Oh, Frenemies.

If you are reading this, and you are female, there is a good chance that you either 1.) Have a friend you hate, or 2.) Have had a friend you hated. Frenemies. It's one of those things that just happens in girl world.

Pop culture has been tackling the concept for some time now. Think Brenda and Kelly, Lucille and Lindsay Bluth, Liz Lemon and Jenna dumbass, Rachel Greene and her sisters, Monica Lewinsky and Linda Tripp. It's become accepted that we just won't like or respect some of the people with whom we have close relationships. Isn't that terrible? What bitches we are!

What I found most interesting about the "Frenemies" show was the discussion about how there have been studies done that have shown that it is unhealthy for people to maintain friendships with people they don't like, or to remain in toxic relationships. You know, heart rate, blood pressure, and a host of other medical problems.

I made an executive decision a few years back when I decided that I would no longer be friends with people I didn't like. Unfriending, if you will. The idea was so simple, but it was life-changing, liberating.

And I'll never look back. Life's too short to spend it in shitty relationships, especially when you could be around people who are caring, sincere, interesting, fun, kind, and loyal. Fortunately for me, I have lots of those kinds of people in my life.

Do you have frenemies? What do you do about them?

Wild Tiger, Lion Heart

Above my dresser, next to the pair of jeans I hope to be wearing by the time I am 30 (damn you, cupcakes!), hangs one of the most hilarious pieces of writing I have ever read. It may be funnier than A Modest Proposal.

My take on this letter will likely reveal me to be mean or cruel, but I can't help it don't care. This thing is great.

On the Thursday before my wedding, my maid of honor, Caitie, and I stopped in Rite Aid because she needed a nail file. As we were walking toward the store, we passed a trash can that was overflowing, and papers were all over the ground around it. One of the papers had some writing on it.

I harbor evil curiosity, and can't resist reading the writing on random pieces of paper. So I picked up this pretty piece of blue paper that caught my eye.

As Caitie browsed Rite Aid's selection of nail files, I began to read it. It was golden. It was literature. I was laughing pretty hard, and Caitie wanted to know what it said. For fear that the author was herself in Rite Aid, I waited until we were back in the car to read it to Caitie.

Here are the contents of this literary masterpiece. It's some kind of journal entry, and it requires no literary analysis. It speaks for itself.

6-15-07
6:34

Called Irene.
Called Randy. Left message. So hard. What am I doing. Being honest & myself. Telling him I NEED HIM tonight. Just to hold me. And be there to keep me safe. And that I know how hard he's working, trying & succeding (SIC) in doing so much. But I know my needs & if he can't be there, I'm going out, going dancing, & I'm going to have a man's arms around me. Not going to be sleeping with him, but I need to be held. And that I still love him.
Called Irene. Told her I did it.

7:30
Randy, my wild tiger, my lion heart, called. He'll meet me at 9:30-9:45 at Safeway. He loves me and he responds to me. I love him so much. He said Don't worry, your man loves you and will take care of you.

It's probably catty and mean, but I can read this thing whenever I'm feeling down, and it will make me smile. Fortunately, Matt, my wild tiger, my lion heart, doesn't mind that I'm a little on the mean side. If he did, I'd be going out, going dancing. . .