Mushrooms!

Starting to grow. . .

This is how epidemics start. . .

This foul-looking disease tent should start yielding pearl oyster mushrooms in a couple weeks.

Supposedly they taste like crab. You'll know as soon an I do, unless at first bite I collapse.

In which event, bury me before I start spraying spores.

Growing shiitakes as well

The Return. . . or How to Make Your Child Beg for Beets

This is the face of a child who has been promised beets for dinner.

No bullshit.

The secret?

Take one ball of Neopolitan pizza dough, homemade.  Preferably 00 flour.  Roll/stretch to paper thin-ness.  Try not to weep at your failure to make a perfect circle.

Smear with pureed roasted butternut squash, lightly seasoned.

Top with sliced roasted beets (roast in foil at 400 for 1 hour, peel, slice and marinate in olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper).  Add basil. . .

. . . and goat cheese.

Bake in a hot oven (max temperature) on a pizza stone for 8 minutes.

Behold, what She Who Must Be Obeyed calls "Purple Pizza."  A bit Dali-esque in shape, but surprisingly delicious.

Eat.  Regrettably, I cannot include pictures of her eating, as the beet juice makes for an image far gorier than any piggie pictures I've ever posted.  Seriously.

Well, this one's early enough - just to serve as proof that she likes it.  Honest - she's been demanding it for days.



For the adults - same dough, same misshapen paper-thin sheet.  Add: Tomato sauce (I add lemon juice to freshen, plus garlic and dried herbs); sauteed baby bella mushrooms; briefly sauteed chopped onions;  uncured canadian bacon; basil. . .

 Top with conservative sprinkling of mozzarella. . .

Bake on stone in hot oven, 8-9 minutes.

The pictures do no justice (no more iPhone pics) - The cheese emulsifies with the sauce and mushroom liquor, making for a shockingly savory, crispy, ultra-thin pizza.  You'd think it has twice as much cheese as it does.

Slice.  Eat with a nice chianti.  Repeat.

More to come soon, including possible crawfish and, oh. . .  a whole roasted young wild boar.  Why the hell not.

We're back.  Cheers.