We were invited to spend a Saturday evening in the middle of nowhere by the posh part of the family. The ones with the villa, Mercedes, sauna and room for a poney (.. err... this one comes from "Keeping up Appearences". But they do have villa, Mercedes, sauna, and a piano, and a trained dog - god knows for what twisted purpose). So, fully expecting a gourmet evening with matching wine crus, and totally unaware of the sinister plot against our delicate bellies we arrived at the mansion and rang the door. Then brutally, we were bring to the kitchen and put straight in the face of the grim reality... Pizzas! But no ordinary pizzas. We had to make them with our bare hands, like egyptian slaves (egyptian pizzas anyone?). What a shame! What an humiliation! We had to work, a Saturday! And to endure cynical comments and evil laughs all along by these degenerated bourgeois.
... But the pizzas were GREAT.
The doughs are covered with tomato sauce, the ingredients are ready to be put to good use.
(all kind of cheeses, minced meat, prosciutto, ham, bacon, pepperoni, onions, red chilis, tomatoes, black olives, garlic oil, spices, dry herbs, and I surely forget things)
to the oven... obviously.
The final result was truly great. I mean really.
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