The problem with drinking an entire pot of coffee is that it totally kills your appetite. I guess that's a good thing, since I'm sure I could miss a meal or two with no ill effects. But I like to cook, and was considering making another batch of biscuits and gravy (especially now that I got that monster 12-inch cast iron skillet, the perfect vessel for such an edible masterpiece), but now that I'm not that hungry anymore, and it's after noon anyways, that idea has lost it's initial appeal.
But while I was sitting out in the living room, drinking my coffee and half-watching TV (BTW, we now have the Food Network in HD, which I thought was really cool, right up until they showed Rachel Ray's nasty mug. Luckily, they followed up with a close-up of Giada De Laurentis' ample bosom, so balance has been restored to the universe...), I was flipping through my new cookbook, trying to come up with ideas of things to do in the kitchen during my days off.
The weather is perfect for a slow-cooker meal like pot roast or chili, or even a batch of my everything-but-the-kitchen-sink spaghetti sauce, but like a bad case of culinary writer's block, none of those ideas seem particularly inspiring to me, so I've kinda given up for now. I was kind of leaning towards making a batch of beef enchiladas or maybe some pulled BBQ pork sandwiches, but again, nothing is calling out to me at the moment.
I do have one particular burr under my saddle, something I've been thinking about for at least two weeks. When Rob and I had that Chicago-style deep dish pizza out at Amore's two weeks ago, I really enjoyed it. But in the back of my mind, I just knew I could do it better. Chicago-style deep-dish pizza lends itself more easily to the amateur pizza chef, because it can be made in a regular oven at relatively low temperatures (around 400 degrees F). New York-style thin crust pizza, on the other hand, has to be done at super-high temps (around 1200 degrees in a coal oven, a la Grimaldi's) to get it right.
Basically, if you think about it, Chicago-style pizza is more like a casserole. And brothaman can make a good casserole.
The problem, however, is my lack of suitable equipment. Currently, I don't have any deep-dish pizza pans, which is no big deal, because they can easily be found for less than $25. But what one really needs is a KitchenAid mixer, which is pretty much the holy grail of all kitchen gadgets. They are not cheap (about $200), and I'm not so sure I'm up to the task of making a bunch of pizza dough by hand. Actually, I could do it, I'm just not sure I know how to do it, and considering the effort/benefit analysis, I think I'd have to be extra-motivated to attempt such an undertaking.
Seriously, without a mechanical dough-mixer, it'd probably take all day to make a couple of pies. It could be done, but I find myself questioning whether or not it's worth it, when I could just as easily get on the internet and find a different Chicago-style pizza joint in town, make the drive, and see how it stacks up to both Amore's offerings and my own imagined superior home-made pie.
Oh well, just like anything else, I probably won't do anything about it until it gets to the point where it bothers me so much that I surrender and give it a shot. But the big obstacle is the philosophical quandary of Why should I do this, when I have already achieved the summit of the Best Pizza mountaintop?
Seriously, I think if I had an extra $200 burning a hole in my pocket, I wouldn't buy a KitchenAid mixer--I'd go to Grimaldi's ten times instead.
Mikey
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