Flashes of Panic

Eating is always chancy right before a move. Supplies in the kitchen get sparse as I try to eat down the grocery stock rather than buying supplies I’d just need to move. Menus, therefore, get a little constrained.

So for lunch today, I fried* a pizza. I put a tortilla on the skillet, then added a layer of tomato sauce, some toppings and all the remaining mozzarella cheese. I kept the heat on, shuffling the pizza a bit now and then to keep it from sticking, until the tortilla was crisp and the cheese was melted. It wasn’t bad; I probably should’ve used a bit less sauce (or thicker sauce) but I was pleased with how well it went. Baking is overkill for a quick lunch like that, and also, I figure whatever Roman legionary first cooked crushed tomatoes and cheese on flatbread wasn’t working with a good hot oven.

* Audrey and Noah tell me that since oil wasn’t involved—I just plunked the assembled “pizza” down on a non-stick skillet—I can’t call it “frying.” But since my personal lexicon includes “frying pan” as a synonym for “skillet,” I figure any cooking done on a “frying pan” must be frying, right? Anyway, that sounds like more fun.

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