When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like a Big Pizza Pie...

Yesterday morning, my college-age niece Jessie represented our family well when she made this simple declaration on Facebook: Name one thing that’s better than pizza. Frankly, there weren’t a lot of other ideas. Most everyone loves pizza.

Our family has a thing for pizza. Bill’s family is the same way; perhaps that’s why we’re soul mates. He and I even agree on the kind of pizza we like – thin crust, red sauce, cheese and sausage. That’s

it, Amigo. (Except when I am trying to eat healthy and have a veggie pizza. Then mine includes red onion and hot pepper rings. Don't they look good?)

Now, when we are in Italy, it’s a different story, but that’s because the pizzas are different there than here. In Italy Bill almost unfailingly ordered prosciutto and arugula. My Italian pizza of choice was diavola – spicy salami. We have tried Roman pizzas and Napolean pizzas. People from Roma and Napoli each believe their pizzas are the best. I think they both rock. Italian pizzas are individually-sized, stretched to odd shapes, and baked in a wood-burning pizza oven at 700 degrees or so. The dough bubbles and browns; there may or may not be a sauce; the crust is thin; the pizzas are served uncut, and eaten with a knife and fork. No neat slices.

When we traveled in Italy with my sister and her daughter a number of years ago, we were having lunch outdoors at a restaurant near the Victor Emmanuel Monument in Rome. We were novices about Italian pizza at the time. Such novices, in fact, that Bill and I ordered one to split and Jen and Maggie ordered one to split. Split? Seriously? We immediately recognized the error of our ways and never made that mistake again. One pizza is just enough for one person. We also ordered wine, and much to our surprise and chagrin, the waiter opened the wine and tossed the cork into the street! Litterbug. He didn’t seem concerned.

Maggie worked at a locally-owned Phoenix pizza restaurant called Oreganos for many years, including during the summer when she wasn’t teaching kindergarteners. Oregano’s pizza is delicious – thin crust (they serve a deep-dish, but in my lowly opinion, deep-dish pizza isn’t really pizza; it’s a casserole), with delicious ingredients. She loves Oregano’s Pizza so much that she suggested it as a first date for her now-husband. Perhaps it was the touch of Italian seasonings and the red sauce that made her so appealing to him.

My sister Bec prefers Grimaldi’s Pizza for many reasons, not the least of which is that, while there is one very near her AZ house, the original is under the Brooklyn Bridge in Brooklyn, NY. She has one very funny memory. She and her husband were at the Brooklyn Grimaldi’s where they enjoyed a pizza. The restaurant was very busy, and just prior to leaving, she used the restroom. When she was finished, she found her husband waiting outside. They proceeded on with the activities of the day. Later that evening, her husband asked her, “How much was our bill at Grimaldi’s?” With horror, she exclaimed that she thought he had paid the bill. Yes, folks. My sister-who-looks-innocent-but-is-really-a-thief walked out of Grimaldi’s without paying her pizza bill, and, thankfully, without being carted off to Rikers Island.

Years ago, my brother used to go to a pizza place that has since gone out of business. We were with him one night when he ordered his favorite – jalapenos, sauerkraut, and anchovies. I’m not making this up. The pizza makers actually came out of the back to see who had ordered this pizza. Not many pizza places offer sauerkraut, so he is limited now to jalapenos and anchovies. Oy vey.

I asked my nephew Erik about his favorite pizza joint, and he said it’s a place in Chicago recommended by a buddy. I asked him the name. “Hmmm,” he said. “I can’t remember. It was one word, a man’s name.” Thanks. That narrows it down to a few thousand. When asked if the pizza was thin crust or deep dish, he replied, “Thin crust. Deep dish is just lasagna.” Ah, a man after my own heart.

As for me, my favorite pizza (and I think Bill’s as well) is a local pizza joint located on the south side of Chicago called Fox’s. It’s got a thin crust (it’s a south side thing) and the homemade sausage and cheese and red sauce are scrumptious. When it’s served to us, there is a thin layer of grease on the top – a sure sign of a tasty pizza. We spend much of our life trying to find a pizza to compare since we don’t live in Chicago, and are largely unsuccessful. Oregano’s is close. Fox’s is the first place we stop when we visit his mother who still lives in the Chicago area. Sometimes before we see her. Shameful.

I wondered if there was a recipe to include in a post about pizza, but it occurred to me that really, pizza isn’t something I would make at home very often. If I want pizza, I go out. That is, until Bill chooses to build the wood-fired pizza oven in the back yard that he dreams about. It could happen.

Ciao.

Glorious Days

Since I haven’t been an AZ winter visitor for that long, it’s hard to know if there is “typical” January weather. I asked one of my nephews if the weather thus far is typical, and he said there really isn’t such a thing as typical January weather. It can be really chilly or it can be really nice.

What I will tell you is that thus far this Arizona winter has been magnificent. I don’t think the weather during the day has been lower than 65, and mostly it’s been in the high 60s to low 70s. It cools off at night, getting into the 40s. It has even hit 38 or 39 at night. I have, er, I mean I choose to turn on the heat first thing in the morning to just get the night chill out of the house.

Last January, we spent the first couple of weeks covering our more delicate (read: hibiscus) plants at night because it got below 32 a few times. We were not successful at saving them, and finally decided – since that brought our total hibiscus loss to 4 or 5 – to forgo purchasing more hibiscus even though we love them. They just don’t do well here. We thought we lost our bougainvillea last year, but take a look at this:

Native Arizonians say you can’t kill a bougainvillea. I think that might be true. It is in full bloom right now.

And just for kicks, here is the rosemary bush Jen and I planted when we first bought our house back in 2010.

We got it as a little 2-in plant at the grocery store. It clearly likes the Arizona weather and it’s sunny southeastern location in the yard.

I can’t wait until the mornings are a bit warmer so that we can take our coffee out onto our patio. And it does get nippy just as soon as the sun goes down. But boo hoo, right? In the meantime, I am glad that for the most part our friends and family in Colorado are having reasonably nice weather, at least now and again. I am sorry for our family in Vermont who pretty much never have nice winter weather, but I reckon they are used to it. And “nice winter weather” is a subjective phrase, no?

It is proported by our enthusiastic television weather folks that it will reach 75 or 76 the rest of the week. They stuck a cloud in tomorrow’s forecast, but I think that’s just to get us excited.

I miss the Bronco excitement that is undoubtedly taking place in Colorado, but we have our little celebration going here too.

Maybe I’ll dye my hair orange.







I was going to make a stir fry tonight, but decided the weather was too nice to not grill outside. So I will rub some olive oil on four chicken thighs, season with salt and pepper, squeeze some lemon over them, and grill them for 40 minutes or so. I will serve them with my stir fry vegetables and call it dinner.

I’d Rather Be Playing Pickleball

Monday is grocery shopping day for me. It’s not a particularly good day for this activity, because the stores are all out of product following the busy weekend of shopping by those who work for a living. So Monday it’s just the retired set. Me included. The store shelves are bare and I know they will be bare, but I continue to shop on Mondays. There you have it.

I’m a fairly loyal Kroger shopper. King Soopers in Denver; Frys here in AZ. No particular reason other than I’m used to their brands and their prices are within reason. Not Walmart prices, but need I say any more about Walmart shopping?

The nearest Frys to our house, a couple of miles from here, is located in an area that is surrounded by park model communities. Now, prior to moving to AZ, I don’t believe I had ever heard that term – park model. In fact, the first time I heard the term was at my neighborhood nail salon, when a pleasant retirement-aged woman asked me if I lived in a park model. My sister Jen happened to be visiting, and we looked at each other with deer-in-the-headlight eyes. “I’m not sure,” I told the woman. “I don’t think so. What is a park model?”

Well, she clearly lived in a park model, and was quite put out with me. I don’t know if she was frustrated at my ignorance or annoyed that I didn’t live in one. She never bothered to explain the term to us.

For your information, park models are what we might call manufactured housing back in Denver. They are RV-like, but more permanent. They generally sit on some kind of a foundation, and are connected to utilities. And they are uber-popular with the over-70 community here in the east valley, and for good reason. They are inexpensive, offer recreational activities, and because they generally are part of a large over-55 community, provide immediate friends. Personally, I like my neighborhood where I can hear children playing, but God made us all different and I’m not judging.

All this is to say that shoppers at this particular store on this particular day of the week are almost all retired folks. Again, me included. But I differ from the majority of these undoubtedly very nice people in one way. I am shopping alone. Almost without exception, shoppers here are a team – husband and wife. Bill rarely shops with me, and never when I’m doing my weekly grocery shopping. He might accompany me on a Walmart run, but he will check out the auto parts or the sporting goods while I get whatever I came to buy. And personally, I’m very happy to have him not included in this particular activity, if for no other reason than I can’t bear to see his disappointed expression when I place the vegetarian-fed, cage-free-raised chicken eggs into my cart instead of the ones that cost a buck sixty-nine.

But here’s the thing. Again, almost without exception, the husbands look so darn sad. The wives are showing them the two-pack of Magic Scrubbing Bubbles and, with furrowed brows and frowning faces, are saying, “Weren’t Magic Scrubbing Bubbles on sale at Safeway last week? I think they might be thirty cents cheaper at Safeway” and the husbands SIMPLY DON’T CARE. They want to be back at home playing cards or pickleball with their friends, or, even better, on the golf course. However, they know full well that must accompany their wives to the grocery store to provide transportation and to reach things on the high shelf.

I feel for ya, Guys. And, by the way, thanks for getting that jar of Newman’s Own spaghetti sauce from the top shelf for me today.

I’m continuing to try and eat healthier meals, and found a delicious-sounding recipe in a Weight Watchers magazine. Last night's dinner!

Beefy Skillet Penne

Ingredients
1 lb. ground sirloin
1 small onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
½ lb. penne pasta, whole grain
2 c. roasted garlic pasta sauce
½ t. dried Italian seasoning
1/8 t. salt
4 oz. shredded Italian-blend cheese, divided
½ c. part-skim ricotta cheese.
Chopped fresh parsley

Process
Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add first three ingredients; cook 5 – 6 min. or until beef is browned, stirring to crumble. Drain well; return beef mixture to pan.

While beef mixture cooks, cook pasta according to package directions. Drain and add pasta to beef mixture in pan. Stir in pasta sauce, Italian seasoning, and salt. Reduce heat to medium.

Combine 2 oz. cheese Italian blend cheese and ricotta cheese in a bowl. Drop by heaping tablespoonfuls over meat mixture, and sprinkle with 2 oz. Italian blend cheese. Cover and cook 5 min or until cheese melts. Sprinkle with parsley.

Nana's Notes: 6 Weight Watcher Plus points for a serving of about 1-1/3 cups.Very quick to prepare. I almost left off the ricotta cheese, but I'm glad I didn't. It made the dish for me.

Hot Diggity, Dog Diggity, Boom What You Do To Me

When I was a small girl, we had a set of World Book Encyclopedias. (Those of you under the age of 30 probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. You probably think I just misspelled Wikipedia.) In one of these encyclopedias, there was a section about AKC-registered dogs. I simply POURED over this part of the book. I learned everything I could about the various breeds. It was fascinating to me. I’m not sure why. At that point I don’t think we even owned a dog. I just was so interested in the different dog breeds.

This interest carried forward to my adulthood. I still am fascinated by dog breeds and how they differ. Each year I watch the Eukanuba Dog Show and the Westminster Dog Show. I love to listen to the moderators talk about what a particular breed should look like and on what exactly they are judged. And I, of course, am always reminded about the hilarious movie, Best in Show, as I listen to the moderators.

This past week I read Rin Tin Tin: The Life and Legend, by Susan Orleans (look for the book review on Friday). For those of you who are too young to remember Rin Tin Tin, he was a German Shepherd that made movies and television programs long, long ago. In this book, Orleans talked a lot about the development of the breed and how the dogs bred to be show dogs look different than a regular family pet. As I read this, I again began thinking about the difference in dog breeds. I decided then and there that attending a dog show was on my bucket list.

Well, why wait for the Westminster Dog Show? I googled and learned that there was a dog show right here in the Phoenix area this past weekend. I had promised myself adventures this winter. Why not go?

Bill politely told me he would be happy to go with me, but his smile looked faked and there seemed to be what I could only construe to be terror in his eyes and he didn’t show a lot of enthusiasm. My sister Bec, however, is always game for an adventure, and she agreed to go with me to the Great Arizona Dog Show. We went on Saturday.

It was great fun, and here’s some of what I learned.

The people who show dogs (at least the ones at this dog show) were not peculiar or snobby at all, unlike the movie. In fact, they couldn’t have been friendlier to us, and were absolutely delighted to answer our questions and let us pet their dogs.

Each dog owner thinks his or her breed is the best. They’re gracious about other people’s dogs, but you can tell they simply can’t imagine why anyone would want to own anything besides a Cocker Spaniel (or a Newfoundland, or a Beagle, or an Afghan Hound, or a Border Collie).

If you are really in the know, you don’t call it the Westminster Dog Show, you call it “The Garden” as in "We're sure to take first place at the Garden next year."

Each breed has a hallmark. A hallmark is the one thing that MUST be present in a breed for it to be competitive. For example, the proud owner of a Newfoundland said the breed’s hallmark is its gentle temperament. If the dog looks perfect, but has a less than sweet disposition, it’s a no-go.

We saw dogs ranging from the tiniest Chihuahua to the grandest Bull Mastiff, and all sizes in between. We saw slobbering hounds, prissy Poodles, and the friendliest little Jack Russell puppies that you can imagine. See?

I can’t help but wonder how the judges, particularly those judging best in show, can compare the different breeds and

come up with a winner. By the way, the winner of this particular show was the Pomeranian. A fluffy bit of orange fur if you ask me. Which you didn’t. And why I’m not a judge…..

I’m a Miniature Schnauzer gal myself.

Arf.

Do Not Use Hairdryer While Sleeping

As we have gotten settled into our house for the winter, it’s become apparent that we have a dire lack of storage, just as many other Phoenicians. It comes in part from the absence of basements. The ground is simply too hard to dig such a hole.

Our refrigerator is fairly small, and filled to the brim with necessary items such as milk and cheese. Oh, and my gin for martinis. Essentials. Our tiny pantry is full as well. I finally determined the other day that, while my pantry is small, I have a considerable amount of counter space. As such, it has become the storage area for my various and sundry breads and chips. But it looks sloppy.

Suddenly, I had the solution. A bread box. They are attractive, there is room on the counter, and the bread, rolls and chips will be stored out of site. So I began looking for inexpensive bread boxes.

My go-to, of course, is always Amazon. They sell everything, after all. Plus, I can use my considerable points from charging too much over the Christmas holidays to purchase on amazon.com. I found a series of them, and then as I usually do, I looked at the comments.

Here is part of an actual comment from the satisfied customer of a particular bread box:

“I was looking for a stainless-steel bread box, and this was the most reasonably-priced version I could find. I didn’t pay much attention to the size, but it’s QUITE large, lol. I was surprised by how big it was, and promptly discovered that I could put not only MY head in it, but my husband’s as well. So keep that in mind.”

I’m not making this up. I simply can't get rid of the vision of a man and a woman sticking their heads into a bread box at the same time. It won’t go away. It seems to me the chances of them getting their heads stuck into said box seem extremely high.

It made me think about absurd product warnings. Because for every absurd product warning, there was an absurd person who did the exact absurd thing about which we are now warned. My sister has mentioned, for example, that she noticed when she bought a cell phone that there was a warning to not place the cell phone into the microwave. Undoubtedly, someone got their cell phone wet and determined that giving it a little shot in the microwave was a great idea. The explosion and his/her probable subsequent hospitalization resulted in our being warned.

Here are a few more ACTUAL product warnings:

Nabisco Easy Cheese: For best results, remove the cap.

Dremel Electric Rotary Tool: This product not for use as a dental drill.

Auto Windshield Visor: Do not drive with sunshade in place.

Duraflame: Warning, risk of fire.

And my personal favorite…..

Apple IPOD: Do not eat IPOD Shuffle.

And, by the way, the title of this post is also an actual product warning. Sigh.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: A Christmas Carol

Following is a guest review of A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, provided by Rebecca Borman. Rebecca was a teacher for 32 years, and taught English at Bishop Ireton High School in Alexandria, Virginia, for 26 years. She taught her students this book each year.

A Christmas Carol. In Prose. Being a Ghost Story of Christmas is its full title. Dickens wrote it at a time when he was struggling financially. It was immediately popular, although his publisher didn’t think it would be and, consequently, refused to publish it. So Dickens put up the money himself. Good call! Readers of all social classes loved it, and some well-known people were significantly affected by it. An American industrialist was moved to close his factory for Christmas day (which was not a common practice either in the US or England); Robert Louis Stevenson vowed to help the unfortunate by giving of himself as well as his money. Historian Thomas Carlyle “sent out for a turkey and asked two friends to dine.” And, the Queen of Norway sent toys to children in London hospitals in the name of Tiny Tim. Seriously. His novel had that impact on his readers.

But, on to my thoughts. One of the aspects I love about the novel is its length. It is short and tightly woven, a book one can read in a few hours. Dickens establishes his theme, and it is apparent from beginning to end. Scrooge was a good businessman, and that was ok. But, his old partner Marley, his first spirit visitor, sets the moral of the story early on: “Mankind was my business…The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business.” Marley tells Scrooge that you can be a businessman without cutting yourself off from all personal connection. And, throughout the novel, Scrooge is shown the results of his isolationist attitude.

I also love the way Dickens portrays each of the three spirits. Christmas Past’s appearance is constantly changing, the way our memories of past events can be colored by later experiences. Christmas Present is big and bold, just as our “present” should be for us. And Christmas Yet to Come is dark and scary. He doesn’t speak or show his face, because the future is unknown. I always enjoyed teaching Dickens because he wasn’t too tricky with his symbolism…he wanted his reader to get it!

Finally, I like that Dickens doesn’t keep the reader hanging as to whether Scrooge is open to transformation. As early as Scrooge’s visit to his past, he feels remorse that he didn’t give a little something to a caroler. By the time the last of the spirits arrives, Scrooge is anxious to get on with it, because he knows time is short. And, when he wakes up on Christmas morning, he doesn’t overthink. He immediately dresses and begins changing his life…and others’.

Something's Fishy about this Manicure

Funny and random things just happen in the East Valley of Phoenix, AZ. I don’t know if it’s the desert air, the spicy food, or all the sunshine, but almost daily something will happen to make me smile and think, "now that's something you don't see everyday."

Here’s a perfect example. Tuesday I got a text message from my sister Bec, who lives in Chandler, which is about 25 miles south of our house, still in the East Valley. The text says, “Productive visit to the salon. Mani, pedi, and 2 lbs. of Louisiana prawns.”

Now, I just presumed she meant that she had gotten her manicure and pedicure, and then headed to Whole Foods and gotten some shrimp for dinner. I really didn’t give it a second thought. A half hour later or so, she telephones me and asks me if I wasn’t surprised and amused by her text message. She commenced to tell me this story.

She was getting her pedicure when she noticed an increase in activity and talking amongst the nail technicians. She said it didn’t appear anything was wrong, but they were definitely excited about something. They were speaking in Vietnamese, so she couldn’t figure out what was going on. She noticed some of the technicians were leaving the building and coming back in carrying packages. A drug deal?

A few minutes later she noticed a Vietnamese man come in and begin speaking to the technicians and some of the customers. He spoke very good English. The nail technician with her explained that the man lived in Louisiana, and had driven his truck to Phoenix carrying a variety of freshly caught and frozen fish. “It’s where we all get our seafood,” she explained.

What does he offer, everyone wondered. “Well, all he has left now is squid,” answered one of the nail technicians. The man quickly spoke up and said he still had prawns in his truck. All of the non-Vietnamese customers perked up, and pretty soon Bec said everyone had a little package resting next to their shoes. Why not, she thought, and proceeded to purchase two pounds of prawns – 9-12 to a lb. – with the heads still on.

A full service salon, for sure. Manicure, pedicure and tomorrow night’s dinner.

She went home and cut off the heads of about a half pound, put the rest in the freezer, and cooked the prawns last night on the grill.

Here was how she prepared the prawns:


I put the frozen prawns in cold water for 10 minutes and then cleaned them. I took off the shells so I could remove the veins. I brushed them with a paste of garlic and crushed red peppers, and grilled them for 3 minutes, turning them over once. They were very sweet, and the garlic and pepper spiciness complemented that sweetness. Eight oz of whole shrimp were about 5 oz cooked without their shells.

Nana’s Notes: I can count. As I see it, there is still a pound-and-a-half of prawns in her freezer. Hello Sistah! And, might I add, when I go to my neighborhood nail salon, all I get is a pedicure. No dinner.