Pizza and changes

 

Ok, so I haven't been totally honest with you.

Or rather, recently I have been omitting a part of my life in this blog for various reasons. First of all, because I was waiting for a certain outcome before mentioning it. Secondly, because my blog is my happy place and I do not want the stress of my daily life to permeate it. 

There has been a lot of stuff going on at work. Let's just say finance is not a great place to be working these days.

Our division was sold and we are moving in a matter of days. The saga started over a year ago (yes, it has been a long, exhausting wait) but the last few months, the last few weeks in particular, have been a whirlwind of meetings with management and unions. There has been a lot of whispering by the coffee machine. Each and every person has a point of view, and not one is positive.

It has been emotionally taxing to say the least. All this talk, these conspirancy theories day in and day out have really worn us out and eroded what little self assurance we still had. We have said goodbye to friends and colleagues who were moved to other departments or offices after working together for many years. We have watched our team fall apart over more or less serious issues. People we trusted disappointed us, we have been left guessing about our future and what lies ahead of us.

There was no clarity, no certainty until yesterday.

Now we know. Some of it is good and some is bad.

We still have a job. And a nice office right in the center of town that I can bike to.

Something you don't take for granted when you find out you might have to wake up at 5am to get to work (in a dangerous place right by the urban fringe) by 7am, even on holidays, due to the nature of our jobs. And that you might have to pay for help on the same salary and that you may only get to see your children for an hour a day before bedtime. So yes, I am grateful.

But these deals never take place without some damage, some loss, some resentment. Things will not be the same. And the future still holds a lot of uncertainty.

I have gotten through this year by remembering how fortunate I am and how some people I care about are experiencing much more difficult circumstances right now. It helped me to keep in mind that these are minor mishappenings in the course of life. I have focused on the one thing that gives me strength and that pushes me forward.

My family. My husband and my children.

Knowing that they are there for me at the end of a long day. Knowing they are healthy and that we all have each other. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my job, the indipendence it gives me. I love being out there in the world, doing my part. But ultimately I work to live and not the other way around.

So what better recipe to write about than the pizza we made last week end. It was a true family effort, teamwork, little and big hands working together to prepare our evening meal. It felt so good, sitting in the kitchen together, music blasting from the IPod, laughing and making a mess. My children were so excited, the room was warm and cozy despite the first autumn chill in the air. I knew once again that this is all I needed to be happy. 

It was good but for one thing. I made the mistake of trying out something I knew I would probably regret. When I was at the supermarket I saw that an upscale brand of buffalo mozzarella was marketing a new kind for pizza. I was tempted, although I usually know better than to buy mozzarella for pizza rather than the real thing. It melted well and stayed more gooey whe cooling down but it burnt easily. This somewhat ruined the pizza because I had to take it out earlier than I had planned to and the bottom crust was a little undercooked. Luisa's (or should I say Jamie Oliver's?) recipe was certainly not to blame.

Please, bear with me if my posts slow down a bit in the weeks to come. I may need a little extra time to adjust, to figure out where I stand, to make all the parts of my day fit together in a new routine. I will still be cooking and thinking up things to write, it may just take a little longer to share.

 

Sweet cherry pie for my sweet

My baby turned two yesterday so even I, despite being a somewhat delusional smitten mother, can no longer justify calling him a baby. He is now officially my big boy or my little guy.

Last summer, inspired by all the blogs I read, I bought a cherry pitter on sale.

I know this has no connection with what I just wrote, but bear with me.

It was already the end of cherry season so I put it away and by the fall I knew I had bought yet another one of those kitchen utensils that would end up at the back of my kitchen drawers. However, as summer came round and cherries started appearing at the market and at our table, I thanked my lucky stars I had bought that gadget.

You see, my son is cherry obsessed, he cannot get enough of them. He is also a toddler, with all the fixations that ensue. There is no way he will eat a cherry that I lovingly prepare for him by cutting it into small pieces (to get rid of the pit and to ensure he doesn't choke). Nope, he does what his big sister does, thank you very much, and believe me, he has his ways of convincing us. I will leave it at that.

Enter the cherry pitter, my best friend (I already have a lover), my saviour. Mommy and Daddy quickly pit a few cherries and he gets his bowl of round, red whole spheres minus the pits and he is happy as a lark. And so are we. No more ear plugs required at the dinner table.

So I decided to make him a cherry pie for his birthday. He nibbled at it, like my kids mostly do around cake, and even had a cherry. It was a success.

So happy birthday, little guy.

My little guy, who sings "to youuuu" every time someone says happy birthday to him (in Italian and English).

My little guy, whose canines are as pointy and sharp as a wolf cub's. And don't ask me how I know.

My little guy, who loves cows and monkeys above all, except his sister maybe.

My little guy, who repeats whole sentences, gestures and intonations without really saying a word.

My little guy, who offers his cheek when asked for a kiss.

My little guy, whose legs turn to jelly when he doesn't want to do something.

My little guy, who still loves it when I kiss the sole of his feet like when he was a teeny baby.

My little guy, who drinks water like there is no tomorrow.

My little guy, who sings along to any song he hears.

My little guy, who was an ugly duckling that is turning into a swan.

My little guy, who never wanted to come out and left sagging tummy skin visible signs of protest.

My little guy, who proves to me daily that I was wrong, that it was much better having a little boy instead of another girl.

Happy birthday baby big boy. I love you.

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Victory! Double crust, shortcrust raspberry pie

Remember I mentioned I was having trouble uploading photos in my last post? Well, what happened was I had used up my available memory so I had to buy more memory space. This and the fact that it coincided with my facing one of my biggest fears (along with baking bread, de-boning a bird and... well, a million other things), baking a pie, made me think. I started this blog in the summer and in no way realized I had already uploaded more than 750 photos until blogger notified me. That is 4 months of recipes, photographs, thoughts, followers and new friends. And a pie.
 

 

I am still new to this blogging world, but I have already gotten so much out of this experience. My photographs have gone from bad to better to worse again (thank you autumn light and evening cooking!) but I still learned much more about photography and food styling than I ever thought I would.  I have "met" blogging companions from all over the world and been graced by their encouraging comments, their daily support in this endeavour and their creative ideas. I have found an outlet for my creativity, a space that is all my own, a place were I am plain old me and not an employee or a mother. Last but not least, this blog has pushed me out of my comfort zone, making me try things I probably never would have attempted before, even in the privacy of my own kitchen...and here I am reporting and photographing my disasters and failures for all to see! Life is funny that way...

Thank you for being there with me step after step.

Dolly muffins and breaking the muffin rules

 

I know I recently posted about muffins, but I had to tell you about these anyway. They were a total baking mishap yet turned out quite delicious. I kid you not. They are extremely humble, not vain and dressed up like so many of their berry or nut-encrusted cousins. They are not studded with chocolate chips, there is no surprise swirl of tasty delight, not even the delectable presence of tangy cheese or vegetables reserved for their savory counterparts. These are plain Janes, but in a good way. Not in the 'you get what you see' way, because there is so much more to them than you expect. They have a depth of flavor that knocks your socks off. Perhaps it is the butter in them or their crumb, I really don't know, but the flavor is so complex in its simplicity, that I found them 'simply' irresistible.