Today is my wife's birthday. As part of my gift to her this year I want to say a few words about what makes her so special to me. I have just finished reading Tim Keller's The Reason for God, and the idea for this post came to me while I was finishing the book on the flight back to Texas. It is a great book, and I have already told some of you how much I was enjoying it and how impressed I am with Keller.
In this book Keller describes two people falling in love and getting married. Keller asks, “Sound like heaven?” and answers “Yes, because it comes from heaven.” Chandra is not just a breath of fresh air in my life—she is a breath of God's love and grace poured into my life on a daily basis. She is a breath of heaven. When I asked her to marry me I told her that. It is more true now than it was then.
Since the rest of Reason was so good I went ahead and read all the way through the acknowledgments at the end, too. I am glad I did since the last paragraph in the Acknowledgments was the highlight of the book for me. Keller says, “My wife, Kathy, never gets footnoted, yet she is the main author of the faith and thought of this author. She put me on to Lewis, to Edwards and Reformed theology, and to the importance of prayer, social justice, and the city.” I choked up when I read this, because it reminded me of how much Chandra does for me, too.
Chandra, you mean so much to me. It is wonderful to have you by my side in this crazy, blessed life we live.
Happy Birthday!
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
More on names
Michelle: "I know I’m your wife, but I always forget if your middle name is Allen or Alan."
Rob: "Actually, it’s Allain." (Note: actually, it’s not)
Michelle: "If we ever have a daughter we could name her Allyn."
Rob: "Uh huh. And her middle name can be Cinderella."
So, for those of you keeping track at home. Walt is claiming “Ann” and the Hays are claiming “Allyn Cinderella.” :)
Rob: "Actually, it’s Allain." (Note: actually, it’s not)
Michelle: "If we ever have a daughter we could name her Allyn."
Rob: "Uh huh. And her middle name can be Cinderella."
So, for those of you keeping track at home. Walt is claiming “Ann” and the Hays are claiming “Allyn Cinderella.” :)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Pizzaioli
My name is Thomas. Some call me T. Lately I've been on a bit of a pizza odyssey of which many of you are aware. I've decided to give a little bit more insight into the pizza odyssey and, consequently, a bit more insight into me and my head. Hopefully you'll leave hungry, but if anything you'll leave with a little more understanding of what it is that Amy married. In fact, you already have that insight! She puts up with all sorts of long introductions to statements ranging from important to inane.
Now to the pizza. First things first though, a little more introduction. The sagacious Inigo Montoya once said, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." This is the case with the word at hand, pizza. When I say pizza, I'm referring to more than just doughy roundish bread topped with cheese product. I'm referring to something more ideal, what is meant by the word in Naples, Italy. Here is a good picture (not mine) of some pizza di Napoli from Pizzeria da Michelle along with me eating pizza in 2003 on the street from Pizzeria di Matteo in Naples. My mother originally saw the photo and said I looked like a hobo. I now acquiesce.
So, pizza as it exists in Naples is the Platonic form that I'm shooting for, and though I'm still a ways off, I have made some good advances. This brings us to the reason that I see this post as insight into the mind of Thomas. Yes, I enjoy good food. Many say I'm a "snob" in this regard, though I prefer the term "enthusiast." Call me what you will, but it isn't just about eating the food. I also enjoy process and find considerable pleasure in the process of food. Thus, I very much enjoy the process that I'm showing you below.
I made some pizza last week. Here it is.
Step 1.
After Step 1, I get out my yeast (actually, it's been sitting out for a few hours already). Yeast is a tricky species, and I have much to learn about it. I started my own sourdough culture a few weeks ago from some brewers yeast, which is what bakers have been using for centuries. The brewer-baker relationship illustrates well the communal and symbiotic potential that food has in a society or even in the home.
Then come the other ingredients. As you can see, Step 1 is about half complete. If I had a quality wood burning dome, I would probably only use the flour seen in the picture, Caputo type "00," which is from Naples and is very finely ground. I've read that it doesn't brown well in the temperatures that my oven does, so I do about 1/3 to 1/2 Caputo (by weight!) and King Arthur bread flower for the rest. Perhaps I'll try 100% Caputo next time.
Other ingredients include salt (kosher, wouldn't Alton be proud, Walt) and water. When it comes to good food, some of the most simple things (flour, yeast, salt, water) can make some of the greatest meals. The simplest things can also be the most challenging. I sift the flour and add the salt into the Kitchen-aid mixer bowl (thanks, Sternaus!) I guess I draw my process line at kneading, which I don't do by hand, though I've tried.
At this point in time, Step 1 is finished
Ingredients begin to get mixed. The drippy stuff is the wee yeasties.
I initially only mix about 2/3 of the flour for a couple of minutes and then let the whole thing sit for about 20 minutes to get the yeast going. Thus, it looks more like oatmeal than pizza dough at this point.
After the rest I begin adding the remaining flour with more of an eyeball on the consistency of the dough than a view to getting all the flour in. I then knead for about 15 minutes. This dough was a little on the dry side. Sometimes it continues to look like oatmeal for most of the kneading. Notice the dough climbing its way up over the hook, something which olive oil on the hook is supposed to help.
After the kneading is finished, the dough looks like this. The exciting part is that I let it rest for another 20 minutes or so.
See, it's resting.
After the post-kneading rest, one might check to see if the dough is "window paning." This is a test in which one stretches the dough without it tearing all the way to the point of being able to see through it. I couldn't get a good picture of this, one hand holding dough stretched across the fingers and the other trying to use the camera, so I'm not including it. Thus, with nicely kneaded dough, I sprinkle the counter with flour. The dough is pretty moist, so all stages of handling from this point on require flour to avoid the dough sticking to everything.
I set the dough on the counter and get it in a nice lump like this. Once it is round I put it in a very lightly oiled bowl to refrigerate and rise. I've tried various lengths of time for the rise, from one day warm to about four days cold. So far, my best results have been from at least two days in the fridge.
After a day or two in the fridge, here's how things are looking. Interestingly, the dough hardly appears to have increased in size as most would expect it to do in the rising stage. All it really has done is flattened out. Worry not. The yeast and its bacteria buddies (lactobacillus and what not) are doing their job. The glory of the pizza we are talking about in this post (remember Inigo's words) is in the flavor of its dough. Yes, the sauce, cheese, and fresh basil coming below are important, but the dough is most important. Thus "pizza" as it is often used in American culture, is all about a bunch of toppings. Not here my friends.
Here are some San Marzano-like heirloom tomatoes. Their destiny is sauce. Good sauce is simple, and the starting ingredients are most important. If you don't know what an heirloom tomato is, click here. I recently tasted a sliver of an odd looking heirloom up next to a sliver of your run of the mill shiny red round tomato. The difference was scandalous. Try it sometime.
A few hours before it is time to cook, I take the dough out and break it into smaller lumps. These are probably about 250g a piece, which is the size Pizzeria da Michele claims to use. However, I plan to begin making smaller pizzas. I recently realized that the smaller pizzas cook more quickly in the oven. The cooking temperature and time are both very important. The wood burning domes in Naples will cook a pizza in about two minutes. Not only does such heat create nicely charred crust (seen above) that is ever so lightly crisp on the outside and ever so soft on the inside, but I speculate that the quick time that results from the heat has other benefits too.
Here's the sauce.
Fresh mozzarella and fresh basil. This basil is from my second basil plant, St. Peter's Basilica. This one is doing better than my first plant, Count Basie, though I'm still having trouble getting leaves to maintain their dark color. One of my ultimate goals is to make this pizza with my hands in as many of the processes of its creation as possible. As I conceive of it, I will grow tomatoes myself and make the mozzarella myself in addition to what I'm already doing.
Here I am gently stretching the dough on the peel. In all its time in the fridge, the yeast did lots of hard work to develop a dough that has small bubbles in it. These bubbles will contribute a desired springiness to the pizza, so one wants to spread the dough out in a manner that does not destroy the work of the yeast. The peel isn't just for looks. It is actually critical for getting the pizza in and out of the hot oven. Semolina flour (or corn meal) is also critical for getting the pizza to slide smoothly off of the peel and onto the stone in the oven. I learned this the hard way.
This is me getting saucy.
This is me getting cheesy. There is no point to shredding the cheese in my opinion, as thin slices melt well and evenly.
What do these bricks have to do with anything? And why are they on the counter? I'm glad you asked. They are fire bricks. My friend, Chip, who knows everything about most things, recommended using them inside my oven to help with heat retention. They seem to make a significant difference.
Here they are in the oven, where they really make a difference, at least until I build a wood burning brick oven someday.
Putting the pizza in the oven.
Here is one of the pizzas fresh out of the oven. As you can tell, I don't have the charring on the crust like the pizza at the top of this post. I have a little bit on the bottom of the pizza, as you can see in the next picture. Even without the charring, this was still a very flavorful crust with a very good texture - crispy, soft, and airy. The smaller pizza that I made a few days after this displayed much better charring.
The bottom should be at least this charred.
Here is another pizza that came from this batch.
There you have it. Come eat pizza with Amy and me sometime.
Photo credits for some of these photos go to Amy Lane Warmath
Also, to see where I learned some of what I'm doing and where I got the photo at the top, check out this web site.
Finally, check out Pizzeria da Michele's web site. Click on the link for the English site, and then click on the tab "la nostra pizza" for some great photos. They make pizza while wearing ties.
Now to the pizza. First things first though, a little more introduction. The sagacious Inigo Montoya once said, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." This is the case with the word at hand, pizza. When I say pizza, I'm referring to more than just doughy roundish bread topped with cheese product. I'm referring to something more ideal, what is meant by the word in Naples, Italy. Here is a good picture (not mine) of some pizza di Napoli from Pizzeria da Michelle along with me eating pizza in 2003 on the street from Pizzeria di Matteo in Naples. My mother originally saw the photo and said I looked like a hobo. I now acquiesce.
So, pizza as it exists in Naples is the Platonic form that I'm shooting for, and though I'm still a ways off, I have made some good advances. This brings us to the reason that I see this post as insight into the mind of Thomas. Yes, I enjoy good food. Many say I'm a "snob" in this regard, though I prefer the term "enthusiast." Call me what you will, but it isn't just about eating the food. I also enjoy process and find considerable pleasure in the process of food. Thus, I very much enjoy the process that I'm showing you below.
I made some pizza last week. Here it is.
Step 1.
After Step 1, I get out my yeast (actually, it's been sitting out for a few hours already). Yeast is a tricky species, and I have much to learn about it. I started my own sourdough culture a few weeks ago from some brewers yeast, which is what bakers have been using for centuries. The brewer-baker relationship illustrates well the communal and symbiotic potential that food has in a society or even in the home.
Then come the other ingredients. As you can see, Step 1 is about half complete. If I had a quality wood burning dome, I would probably only use the flour seen in the picture, Caputo type "00," which is from Naples and is very finely ground. I've read that it doesn't brown well in the temperatures that my oven does, so I do about 1/3 to 1/2 Caputo (by weight!) and King Arthur bread flower for the rest. Perhaps I'll try 100% Caputo next time.
Other ingredients include salt (kosher, wouldn't Alton be proud, Walt) and water. When it comes to good food, some of the most simple things (flour, yeast, salt, water) can make some of the greatest meals. The simplest things can also be the most challenging. I sift the flour and add the salt into the Kitchen-aid mixer bowl (thanks, Sternaus!) I guess I draw my process line at kneading, which I don't do by hand, though I've tried.
At this point in time, Step 1 is finished
Ingredients begin to get mixed. The drippy stuff is the wee yeasties.
I initially only mix about 2/3 of the flour for a couple of minutes and then let the whole thing sit for about 20 minutes to get the yeast going. Thus, it looks more like oatmeal than pizza dough at this point.
After the rest I begin adding the remaining flour with more of an eyeball on the consistency of the dough than a view to getting all the flour in. I then knead for about 15 minutes. This dough was a little on the dry side. Sometimes it continues to look like oatmeal for most of the kneading. Notice the dough climbing its way up over the hook, something which olive oil on the hook is supposed to help.
After the kneading is finished, the dough looks like this. The exciting part is that I let it rest for another 20 minutes or so.
See, it's resting.
After the post-kneading rest, one might check to see if the dough is "window paning." This is a test in which one stretches the dough without it tearing all the way to the point of being able to see through it. I couldn't get a good picture of this, one hand holding dough stretched across the fingers and the other trying to use the camera, so I'm not including it. Thus, with nicely kneaded dough, I sprinkle the counter with flour. The dough is pretty moist, so all stages of handling from this point on require flour to avoid the dough sticking to everything.
I set the dough on the counter and get it in a nice lump like this. Once it is round I put it in a very lightly oiled bowl to refrigerate and rise. I've tried various lengths of time for the rise, from one day warm to about four days cold. So far, my best results have been from at least two days in the fridge.
After a day or two in the fridge, here's how things are looking. Interestingly, the dough hardly appears to have increased in size as most would expect it to do in the rising stage. All it really has done is flattened out. Worry not. The yeast and its bacteria buddies (lactobacillus and what not) are doing their job. The glory of the pizza we are talking about in this post (remember Inigo's words) is in the flavor of its dough. Yes, the sauce, cheese, and fresh basil coming below are important, but the dough is most important. Thus "pizza" as it is often used in American culture, is all about a bunch of toppings. Not here my friends.
Here are some San Marzano-like heirloom tomatoes. Their destiny is sauce. Good sauce is simple, and the starting ingredients are most important. If you don't know what an heirloom tomato is, click here. I recently tasted a sliver of an odd looking heirloom up next to a sliver of your run of the mill shiny red round tomato. The difference was scandalous. Try it sometime.
A few hours before it is time to cook, I take the dough out and break it into smaller lumps. These are probably about 250g a piece, which is the size Pizzeria da Michele claims to use. However, I plan to begin making smaller pizzas. I recently realized that the smaller pizzas cook more quickly in the oven. The cooking temperature and time are both very important. The wood burning domes in Naples will cook a pizza in about two minutes. Not only does such heat create nicely charred crust (seen above) that is ever so lightly crisp on the outside and ever so soft on the inside, but I speculate that the quick time that results from the heat has other benefits too.
Here's the sauce.
Fresh mozzarella and fresh basil. This basil is from my second basil plant, St. Peter's Basilica. This one is doing better than my first plant, Count Basie, though I'm still having trouble getting leaves to maintain their dark color. One of my ultimate goals is to make this pizza with my hands in as many of the processes of its creation as possible. As I conceive of it, I will grow tomatoes myself and make the mozzarella myself in addition to what I'm already doing.
Here I am gently stretching the dough on the peel. In all its time in the fridge, the yeast did lots of hard work to develop a dough that has small bubbles in it. These bubbles will contribute a desired springiness to the pizza, so one wants to spread the dough out in a manner that does not destroy the work of the yeast. The peel isn't just for looks. It is actually critical for getting the pizza in and out of the hot oven. Semolina flour (or corn meal) is also critical for getting the pizza to slide smoothly off of the peel and onto the stone in the oven. I learned this the hard way.
This is me getting saucy.
This is me getting cheesy. There is no point to shredding the cheese in my opinion, as thin slices melt well and evenly.
What do these bricks have to do with anything? And why are they on the counter? I'm glad you asked. They are fire bricks. My friend, Chip, who knows everything about most things, recommended using them inside my oven to help with heat retention. They seem to make a significant difference.
Here they are in the oven, where they really make a difference, at least until I build a wood burning brick oven someday.
Putting the pizza in the oven.
Here is one of the pizzas fresh out of the oven. As you can tell, I don't have the charring on the crust like the pizza at the top of this post. I have a little bit on the bottom of the pizza, as you can see in the next picture. Even without the charring, this was still a very flavorful crust with a very good texture - crispy, soft, and airy. The smaller pizza that I made a few days after this displayed much better charring.
The bottom should be at least this charred.
Here is another pizza that came from this batch.
There you have it. Come eat pizza with Amy and me sometime.
Photo credits for some of these photos go to Amy Lane Warmath
Also, to see where I learned some of what I'm doing and where I got the photo at the top, check out this web site.
Finally, check out Pizzeria da Michele's web site. Click on the link for the English site, and then click on the tab "la nostra pizza" for some great photos. They make pizza while wearing ties.
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