...in other words: Pizza. A BIG pizza. More fast food...(what was the last food I was talking about? Ah, oh yes, those crepes stuffed with a poached egg and bacon...)
Because the Frenchie will turn himself inside out in excitement out at the prospect of eating pizza (I know, something wrong with those French genes...you know his nickname from Club Med days is Vinny-Two-Slices? Say that with a Brooklyn accent!) I have been making it a bit more often than I might have otherwise. And perhaps I like pizza, too. OK. I do. A lot. But you know. Sigh. It's pizza.
So this pizza...I know. Sausages! But let's start on the left. The dough is Patricia Wells' all-purpose version from her Bistro Cookbook. After all these manymany years of cooking I still actually open this book and read it. It's a quick dough and makes a good cottage loaf, too. Yes, I'll post the recipe next door, soon. Tomatoes from a can, wooshed till smooth, added to some thinly sliced garlic. Merguez sausages. Buffalo mozzarella. And few sprigs of oregano from the terrace. Those were the token greens. Ha. A glass of red wine, and I'm afraid that was dinner.
It wasn't exactly dainty.
Yes, I'll be visiting the tennis walls tomorrow, before the rain. I must see if the man and his dog are there. I must write about them.