Pizza Bread.
Thursday. August 7th. 2025. Provo Utah
Miei cari amici;
I wonder how many of you skip down to the menu for today, never bothering to read the brilliant stuff I compose before I reveal the meal . . .
It’s discouraging to think about.
Everything is discouraging to think about at 2 in the morning.
As Mark Twain said: “No one is quite sane in the night.”
I fell asleep in front of the TV at 9 and woke up at midnight. I took my Advil and a warm cup of milk, then read, but when I finally turned off the light sleep could not be tempted. Instead it came into my mind to make pizza bread. I fought the idea for a while, insisting to myself that I would soon be a-snooze. But the pizza bread got the better of me.
It’s like an upside down cake, I layer the bottom of the pan with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a dash of cooking sherry, then lay down sliced onions, mushrooms, and tomatoes, along with a can of tomato paste. I top all that with smoked paprika, rosemary, oregano, sea salt, and pepper.
Then pour over it a thick rich savory quickbread batter, with parmesan/romano cheese mixed into it.
It’s baking now, and will be done in 30 minutes.
When will I be serving it? I dunno. It depends on how much more sleep I can get tonight, if any, and what time I manage to get to the Temple in the morning. Maybe for lunch. Maybe for dinner. I’ll let you know – don’t crowd me, you hungry hounds! I may just call people and offer it all day long. That’s what I did with yesterday’s wheat berry salad, and I managed to give away all of it. Of course, some people say they will come to my door when I invite them and then they never come . . . the back of my hand to them for being churls and varlets.
I’m finally getting sleepy, so there’s no poem today.
Well . . . maybe there is:
Ev’ryone’s talking of tariffs –
But like weather, just what can you do?
Kvetch all you want, our blonde Commandant
Won’t listen to me or to you.
Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve done better. But what do you expect at 2:25 in the morning?
Con i più alti saluti,

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