I hadn’t made food with people in months. Living alone my diet mostly subsists of hummus, carrots, apples, cereal, eggs, and food that can be made quickly, which I should be deeply ashamed of.

The first night I made a communal meal with friends I nearly cried. As a Lifetime Member of the Frequent Crier Club (LMFCC) I am unashamed to admit this, because the simple act of being around others with smells and things simmering and conversation seemed ethereal and blissful.

One evening we made a pizza. It was, in theory, to be a proper pizza. We had lined it out- a simple, classic pizza with olives, basil, mozzarella, as much garlic as possible, and a homemade tomato sauce. Molto bene, certo!

Whole wheat flour damned us. We tried to make beautiful pizza dough but made the tiny mistake of using whole wheat flour. The dough did rise- a bit- but kneading it and flattening it showed that the whole wheat had reduced the flexibility and texture of the dough to something that was not necessarily right for pizza.

Regardless, we knew it would taste good, and continued to pile ingredients on with the oven on as high as it would go. Nestled in tinfoil, the pizzas broiled and emerged looking delicious. Even with the odd dough, they tasted excellent.

P.S. I do have blog posts lined up. Lots of 35mm film to be developed and scanned in when I get back to Canada as well. I am not dead, just spending time with the living.