When I was a kid, in my pre-vegetarian days, Thanksgiving was our big deal. My family always overdid the gifts at Christmas, my grandmother Gerard giving me everything that I placed my imprimatur on in the old Christmas Triple-Threat toy catalogs. Remember Sears, J C Penney, and Montgomery Ward? I do, vividly. I couldn’t rest until I got my hands on the thin, colorful “wish-books” filled with the marketing genius of 1960’s-70’s toy makers. But that was about stuff, things, toys that would be broken and discarded without much thought since they’d be replaced by new ones when the next Yuletide came along. Sure, we had Christmas dinner, the requisite turkey with all the trimmings, and it was almost the same as our unvarying Thanksgiving menu. I think, though, that all the gifts overshadowed the food, which seemed almost as an afterthought, pale competition to my new Man From U.N.C.L.E. Spy Briefcase, or my 6 year-old sized white Stutz Bearcat battery-operated car. I also remember not having the same appetite at Christmas when compared to Thanksgiving, probably too distracted by my new Tonka dump truck or Davey Crockett rifle. But Thanksgiving; that was different. No presents to exchange, no cards to send, no catalogs to drool over. Instead, family to hang out with, time off from school, and food, lots of food, in fact an obscene amount of food. And the food was good, made with a great deal of care, and unpretentious. I have always felt that no matter where or when it’s eaten, regardless of who prepared it or how much you paid for it, those are three qualities food should always posses.
When I became a vegetarian some 25 years ago, I cast a large spanner into the works of my family’s holiday meals. No longer would I eat plate after plate of turkey and oyster dressing. Especially oyster dressing! I ate more of that than anything else on the sideboard, usually 3 helpings of dressing alone. I love oysters, and in fact still have brief moments of nostalgia about my favorite bivalve. However, I won’t waver, no, I will not cave in, sell myself out, and allow myself even 1 morsel of it anymore. Rest assured that I’ll carry the smell and taste of it, in my mind, to the grave. Mom hasn’t made it for a few years, and in fact the last time she did, I had asked her to so I could take it to a friend at work whose late brother loved it as much as I did. My friend and I share strong emotional memories associated with oyster dressing.
But I digress. When I declared my freedom from animal flesh I also accepted the mantle of family chef. My Mom wasn’t, and still isn’t, a vegetarian. She is, though, a very understanding soul and a damned good sport! Upon assuming my new responsibilities, I had to think quickly and come up with a knock-out dinner, so as to show everyone that I was serious about my dietary choices. This life-style change wasn’t a lark, a fad, nor an experiment. I also felt compelled to shatter the myth of vegetarian food being clumsy and bland, an endless parade of amateurish culinary boordom. On the contrary, to me my newly found cuisine was exciting, exotic, flavorful, and beautiful. So I decided to make a Moroccan meal for my first vegetarian Thanksgiving. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of eating any dishes from Morocco you’ll understand that this was a good choice. A hit into left field, if you will. The flavors are intense but balanced, the ingredients substantial, and the exotic-factor was a 10+. I made salads with roasted red peppers, olives, preserved lemons, and lots of olive oil. The main dish was a tagine, a Moroccan slow-cooked stew with potatoes, artichoke hearts, fava beans, garbanzo beans, and tomatoes, redolent with herbs and spices. Of course couscous. But pumpkin pie for dessert! There’s a limit to the messing around one can do with tradition.
We’ve had Moroccan food alternately on almost every Thanksgiving or Christmas since. Mom loves it (I do too), and I’ve added new side dishes every year, though always making our favorite tagine. I even bought a tagine to serve the tagine in! Until this year. “Paradigm shift” doesn’t really do it justice. It was more akin to the planets realigning themselves. And this is where the “round” comes in. Well, more like oblong, but “Thanksgiving in the Oblong” sounded a little ridiculous for a title. So for 2009, tympani roll please, there would be no Chalada Felfla, Khubz, or L’Hamd M’rakad. Not one fava bean or strand of saffron. No. And this is how it came about; “Rob, do you know what I haven’t had for a very long time?” “No Mom, don’t have any idea.”…
“Pizza.”
That was actually a pretty exciting idea! I haven’t made a pizza since I was about 14 years old, and then all we had available was a Chef Boyardee boxed pizza kit. Mom and I used to make those all the time, rolling out the re-hydrated dough on our butcher block, pouring on the pre-made sauce, then arranging the slices of mozzarella in a wild-west influenced wagon wheel design. I honestly don’t remember putting anything else on it, no vegetables or meat, just dough, (canned) sauce, and cheese. Pizza night was a real treat, though. I was essentially raised by my Mom, and doing things like that with her meant a lot to me. In retrospect we were a good team in the kitchen, and had a hell of a great time making pizza or lasagna or Chicken Kiev. It was always fun. So now things would come full-circle, only this time there’d be no pizza kit, no canned sauce, no mozzarella wagon wheel. And it was Thanksgiving, our Big Deal! This would be no ordinary pizza…
I started by making my own pizza sauce which was extremely easy. Water, tomato paste, garlic, dried parsley, oregano, and basil. Simmered until thick and fragrant from the herbs, it was good enough to serve over pasta. For the toppings; sliced red bell pepper, black olives, portobello and crimini mushrooms, red onion, roasted garlic cloves, and a mixture of shredded mozzarella and smoked provolone cheeses. I was too lazy to make my own dough, and bought ready-made at Whole Foods, a great choice as it’s very high quality and convenient. I packed everything up and headed to Mom’s place.
To make restaurant quality pizza at home, you really need a tile surface to cook it on. I use a circular terra cotta pizza stone. You can also go to a hardware store and pick up unglazed terra cotta tiles, which I like better than the round stone, as I sometimes like to make an oval pizza instead of a round one. Just lay the tiles on the top rack in your oven and you’re ready. I placed the stone in the cold oven and turned the heat up to 425 degrees. This insures that the stone will not crack due to the thermal shock that happens when you place a cold stone into a hot oven. I allowed the stone to heat for about an hour to insure even heat distribution.
While the oven heated, I rolled out the dough into an oval on a home made pizza peel. After bringing up the edge a little, I ladled on the sauce, spreading it evenly throughout the well created by the edges of the dough. Next, the vegetables, followed by the cheese. Then, onto the blisteringly hot stone in the oven. Bear in mind I hadn’t made a pizza for about 30 years, so I was a little, how can I say it, hyper-vigilant about the thing. The baking garlic, herbs, and dough smelled fantastic, very pizzeria-like. But that was little comfort as I paced back and forth in front of the oven, wringing my hands, staring at the oven door, and believing that it would turn out well merely because I willed it to. I painfully waited out the 15 minutes without peeking (didn’t want to let the heat out the oven, of course).
When I opened the oven door, my fears were gone in an instant. Success! The rim had risen into a great golden brown bread-rope, lassoing in the piping hot sauce and all the perfectly melted cheese which blanketed the slightly roasted toppings, giving off a beautiful aroma which wafted through the kitchen. We ate. It tasted good, was made with a great deal of care, and was unpretentious.
Thanksgiving pizza was a big hit! Good-bye box, so-long tinny-tasting sauce, now just fond memories. After making a mature version of one of my favorite foods, pizza and I, it seems, have grown up. Separated by the years, we came back together in a glorious reunion, and you can be sure I’ll keep this friendship alive for a long time to come.