A Cooking Post from the Unlikeliest of Sources

There's recipe below, I promise. Sorta.

Since J received his promotion, I’ve found myself in the worst position. J is working more hours, and this means that I’m in charge of dinner. I hate cooking. I married J because he can cook, and likes cooking, and for the past dozen years has done almost all of the cooking.  Now I’m cooking.  

I’ve been posting my lamentations on Facebook about this situation. It’s become increasingly obvious (thanks to my children and friends) that I’ve somehow picked up a knack for this shit, despite my best efforts not to. It used to be that I only had to deal with dinner once or twice a week, and I could usually get away with bringing home Chipotle or making it snack night (read: hummus, cheese, and pitas) or sandwich night (I make a killer sandwich, as long as you don’t want mayonnaise, which I refuse to touch). No longer.

Now J is the one who cooks only once or twice per week. And thanks to Pinterest, I now have an arsenal of recipes to try. I like food, and especially pictures of yummy food. Except, on Pinterest, those pictures are usually linked to recipes.

Plus, I am afraid of fast food. Don’t get me wrong; I love fast food. It’s tasty, even if it is horrible for you.  I would put that Supersize Me documentary to the test if I didn’t have a phobia of eating sand in my hamburger. So, real food that someone (me) I know cooks is in, and fast food is out.

Then I had an idea. Not a Drunk Kitchen idea (that is one freaking awesome idea) but an idea where someone—with little interest in cooking and even less skill—writes about cooking for others who also despise cooking and have little-to-no-skills in the kitchen. There’s been enough Julia Childs and Pioneer Woman to go around. Let’s hear from someone who just wants to get that shit over with each night. Coming home from a hard day of work to deal with the kids’ homework and laundry is bad enough. Preparing dinner and then eating dinner and then cleaning up dinner is the last thing this girl wants to do.

Enough nattering on; let’s get this first recipe over with.

My favorite food is pizza. I could eat pizza twice a week, every week. Except I fear fast food pizza (see the mention of non-food items in my food, above). And most frozen pizzas. Which means I have to cook the pizza.

So here’s a recipe for you to try—and make your own. The great thing about pizza is that you can put whatever you want (or have) on it, once you’ve got the basics down, and the basics are simple. For the pizza pictured here, I put J’s homemade sauce on it, as well as beef, sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, kalamata olives, spinach and mozzarella.

And I made Ant cook the sausage. The rest was leftovers from the refrigerator.

Step one: Get a pan like this. Seriously. Stone cookware is your friend. I’ve used the shit out of this pan for years, and it gets the job done right every time. Everyone needs to invest in this pan. You cannot screw up food in this pan, and I’ve tried.  I strongly suggest that you spread two teaspoonfuls of cornmeal to the pan before moving on to the crust. It tastes yummy and it keeps the crust from sticking.

Step two: The crust. So, you can make your own crust, or you can buy crust. I buy crust. If you want to make yours, then get on the Pinterest. There are some good wheat crust recipes on there. Using the pan above, I like to buy the Pillsbury pizza crust in the can (near the biscuits and cinnamon rolls), and for this recipe, you’ll need two—one roll on each half. This has added benefits: speed, since you won’t have to make it or roll it out; thickness, since the guys like a thicker crust; and potential for stuffed crust—sticking string cheese in the crust around the edges of the pan and then wrapping the crust tightly around it.

Step three: Toppings. The sky’s the limit here folks. You can make it easy (store bought sauce, pepperoni, and mega-cheese), you can make it unique (chicken bacon artichoke alfredo) or you can take this opportunity to hide vegetables from your kids (my preferred route). Put whatever you want on the pizza.

Step four: Stick that puppy in the pre-heated oven (425) for 20-25 minutes. Drink a beer. Watch a sitcom.

Step five: Cut and Eat. Be happy in the fact that you have less dishes than usual to clean up afterwards. Marvel at the fact that your kids met the daily recommended servings of vegetables for once.

See how easy that was? Yeah—that’s the only way I function in the kitchen. I have lots of other recipes like this one to share, so I’m going to start posting some of them. And I think I might be able to convince J to share some of his recipes, too (for people who have skills in the kitchen)—although the pasta sauce might be off limits. I’ll try—for you. You can thank me in Starbuck’s gift cards.