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Editor's ViewpointMeditations Of A Minnesota Mossback |
The Epistemology of Pizzas
Last week, Daughter No. 1, who is pursuing a graduate degree in the Pacific Northwest, came home to Minnesota for a wedding in which she took part as a member of the wedding party.
It was a great visit, and of course—this being the Barnes household—we celebrated the last night she was in town with homemade pizza. Sons No. 1 and 2 came home from the U of M and several family friends were present to enjoy it with us.
There is something special about making homemade pizza that draws the evening out and prolongs conversation.
Each pizza bakes one at a time in a hot oven and, in preparation for pizza assembly, a lot of chopping, slicing and sautéing goes on…green peppers, onions, sausage, pepperoni, chicken, pineapple, basil, the works.
I remember when I first started making pizza from scratch. The four kids were very small, and we celebrated the end of each weekend with pizza, pop and a movie—usually of the Walt Disney variety.
The kids never got pop except on Sunday night, so the whole affair was pretty special.
For some reason, initially I could never remember which came first…the cheese? The toppings? Clearly, I never worked in a pizza joint.
But a friend who was a seasoned pizza-maker advised me, “Every pizza is a cheese pizza first.”
I never had any problem after that.
Every pizza I make is a cheese pizza first. I roll out the homemade crust, apply the sauce and cheese, and then—according to the tastes of the ultimate consumer—it morphs into something very, very unique.
Mikael and Pat don’t like spicy things: hold the cayenne!
Nathan doesn’t like garlic and onions : don’t even think about it!
Nick prefers cheese and sausage: forget the pepperoni!
Fortunately, I don’t have to remember all that. Like at Mongolian Barbecue, where you get to choose what goes in your bowl before it’s cooked for you, we have a smorgasbord of pizza toppings from which to choose. Everyone adorns his half.
On this morning after, I reflect that having children is a little bit like making pizza.
If you accept the idea that every newborn comes equipped with a mental tabula rasa (Latin for blank slate) and that all of his or her knowledge comes from experience and perception, it could be said that every one of my children started out as a cheese pizza.
And then the fun began.