On Faux Calzones and the Start of a New Semester

They're back. It seems like it was just yesterday that the howling from the campus hill died down to reveal the more peaceful whisper of wind blowing in the trees and the faint sound of deer munching on foliage behind my house. I still remember sitting on my front porch in my little valley in Pullman with a cup of coffee (still in my pajamas because I don't have neighbors and hell, I love PJs), waving to the long line of U-Hauls headed out of town toward Colfax, Seattle, Bellevue and beyond. From that day for a few months, I parked anywhere I wanted, enjoyed shopping at grocery stores without being hit by errant carts driven by young adults too busy to look up from texting their friends in the next aisle to notice the human being bent over the produce, I even enjoyed long walks down my road with no sidewalks without jumping into the bushes to avoid SUVs barreling down the roadway well over the speed limit.


Ahhhh. Those were the days.



They started arriving in small groups, really only venturing out during the daytime to purchase ice cream cones from Licks during the heat wave or scour the campus looking for their assigned fall classrooms, but one day last week, as my dogs did their final business of the evening, I heard them. At first a howl that sounded like the coyote that plagued the valley for most of the summer, and then suddenly increasing into a cacophony of voices screaming "Go Cougs."


The students are back.


I've been a bit of an online and real-life ghost since they appeared, struggling to meet some important deadlines for writing the dissertation, tweaking the syllabus I created over the course of the summer and getting ready for the academic job market this fall, but part of me needed a little comfort food once I realized they were here to stay in my final year at WSU. There's no escaping them--the police blotters alone can attest to the sharp spike in DUIs and alcohol offense arrests.


With all the sadness of a little kid headed back to elementary school, I picked up a loaf of Salted French bread from the Moscow Co-Op like it was my lunch box and decided to use it for a most unorthodox meal: the faux calzone. The meal was less well thought out and put together than it was third grader-with-rubber-cement-and-confetti caliber, but it hit the spot of my soul that cried out for salty, cheesy comfort in the face of losing a prime parking spot at the local Safeway.


After scooping out the insides of the bread and freezing the breadcrumbs, I layered a quick pizza sauce made from tomato paste, water, fresh basil and oregano, garlic and olive oil inside the bread, along with freshly cooked and crumbled Italian sausage removed from its casing, and a mountain of provolone and fresh mozzarella. After a half hour in the oven, I drowned my back to school sorrows in the sweet and savory warmth of pizza bread.


Stuffed and feeling better about the state of my lost summer, I took solace in the finished syllabus before me: it's the best I've ever engineered. I have missed teaching, despite what this post may have indicated, and I can't wait to get back into a classroom to talk about books.


I mean really, who wouldn't give up a front row parking space to discuss books for a living?


Naked bread





No longer naked, just saucy



Some crave chocolate. Not I. Bring on the cheese!



Eat a slab. Just don't tell your cardiologist.



Once you're fully stuffed, grab a kitteh and cuddle off the calories.

Chicago-Famous Freddy's Pizza and a Trip Back to my Childhood

When I was a kid, my parents would sometimes drop all three of us rambunctious kids at my grandmother's house in Cicero so they could...well, get away from us. If there was an event to be attended, a date to be shared, or a load of massive errands, we would head over to grandma's to eat Falco's Pizza and drink Diet Rite out of little mason jars while playing gin rummy (minus the gin, of course) with the extended family. My grandmother Ann, great aunt Mae (whom I'm named after), and my great uncle George all lived together for almost all of their lives, and I can still smell Aunt Mae's Thanksgiving stuffing baking upstairs in the second kitchen. My grandma's house was one of those unique two-flat WWII-era structures that was full of drafty corners and fun places for kids to hide. The alleyway was a frequent hangout as well, and if we were lucky, my grandma would give us money to get Italian lemonade at Freddy's Pizza right down the block.





The old neighborhood in Cicero. These unique houses never fail to bring an odd feeling of familiarity when I visit Berwyn/Cicero (hey Svengoolie fans: BERRRR-WYN).




Over the years, I've come to realize what a significant role Freddy's played in my childhood since every visit to grandma's house was accompanied by a big scoop of Italian lemonade and the rather exciting endeavor of sucking on the lemon seeds before spitting them out. My brother told me once that if I swallowed the seeds I would grow a lemon tree in my tummy, and that apprehension carried into later years when I was scared to eat pomegranate seeds for fear of a giant fruit tree emerging from my body. I was a little impressionable.





The famous Freddy's. An understated, small establishment for sure, but food this good doesn't need frills.



The original Freddy retired years ago, and Joe Quercia expanded the tiny lemonade and grocery store to include homemade Italian dishes that in my father's words are like "a trip back to Italy." This is high praise coming from my father, whose very refined palate has always been somewhat of an inspiration to me (he's the right kind of picky). Dad also mentioned Freddy's had just recently been reviewed on WTTW's Check Please, a show that I grew up watching and that I often return to before a visit to get the culinary Chicago scoop. This is also the show I recommend to those visiting Chicago, and I just found out they've been archiving some of their spotlight pieces--for the Check Please! edition on Freddy's, see here.



My mom, dad, Ian and I piled into the car on a Saturday afternoon ready to be blown away as always, and we weren't disappointed. The inside is quite cramped due to the groceries that surround waiting customers, but I loved scouring through the many different imported pastas and Italian goods whilst I waited.










When it came time to order, Ian picked the sausage, potatoes and peppers, I chose the gnocchi in creamy vodka sauce, my dad devored penne with peas in a vodka red sauce, and my mom chose the chicken piccata. We all shared a slice of thick crust sausage pizza, and my mouth was in heaven with the fresh fennel seeds (*see note at bottom of post*). I would give you all the Italian names for these dishes, but I always end up misspelling in Italian even if I can pronounce them with finesse (a little embarrassing for a PhD student in English!).






Gnocchi and Piccata





Pizza and Penne







Sausage, potato and peppers




After lunch, we headed back inside to where the sweet gelato and tart Italian lemonade of my childhood waited for us. Ian and I shared a pistachio gelato, which was fantastic, but I would recommend to others my absolute favorite, tartufo (chocolate with hazelnuts). Of course, you can't go wrong with any of the gelato flavors at a place voted Best Gelato in Chicago!


I snuck a bite of the Italian lemonade from my dad's dish, and it was just as I remembered. I still didn't swallow the lemon seeds.










Thanks dad!!




**Note: Fennel seeds are a must in any Italian sausage coming out of Chicago. In fact, many pizza sauces in Chicago (the ones that are worth eating--so stay the hell out of Lou Malnati's, Uno's or any other tourist trap) also include a subdued but fantastic fennel finish. If you order any Chicago pizza, don't get the deep dish. It's overrated, most people I know never ordered it, and it's the easiest way to throw up your "I'm a tourist! Take advantage of me!" flag. I know many people are into pepperoni or cheese or any of the California-inspired alfalfa sprout/artichoke varieties, but go for the sausage slice if you want a true taste of Chicago. If you see whole fennel seeds in the sausage, you've got a good slice.

Pizza for the busy #2

Store-bought refrigerated pizza dough is not my favorite canvas for pizza, but in a pinch, it does the trick. The second night I craved pizza, I went to a more reasonable pizza-in-a-pinch source: leftover whole wheat pita bread. After making baked falafel the day before (and eating ALL of the leftovers around 1 AM that evening), I needed to use up the leftover flatbread. With a container full of leftover shredded chicken and some black beans that needed a use, I mixed in some frozen corn and slathered my favorite BBQ sauce on the pitas, and then topped with leftover shredded cheese.





Have you had Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ Sauce? I grew up eating that stuff, and I love the sweetness of the original (the Honey BBQ is overkill). The other plus? It's a Chicago BBQ sauce! Ahhhh, homesickness lasts a lifetime.





Not even ten minutes later, dinner was ready, and most of the week's leftovers had been recycled. I retired to the couch to read happy and full.

Pizza for the busy I-don't-have-time-for-no-knead-pizza type #1

I adore pizza, and after growing up eating Falco's Pizza (Psssst! Don't go to the downtown location, go to the original in Cicero) and other Chicago pizzas (besides the tourist traps that are Uno's and Lou Malnati's) I can't imagine ever trying to eat Pullman pizza again. Let's just say our options are the major chains (Little Caesars, Pizza Hut, etc.) and local CRAP (Pizza Perfection/Pizza Pipeline--shouldn't the names alone be a sign?) so I often make pizza at home when the craving hits me. The only problem? No time to make my own dough. Refrigerated home dough works just fine for this grad student/teacher/editor extraordinaire.



Ian and I had been craving pizza, and while when I eat out in Chicago I usually order sausage, I had some chicken that needed to be used. After perusing some posts on tastespotting.com for pizza sauce ideas, I found Laura Flowers's blog and was astounded--she's from Moscow, Idaho!!!!! That's my stomping grounds!!!! After pumping my fists in the air 80's love ballad-style, I decided to make her pesto cream sauce for a chicken pizza. The sauce was incredibly tasty, but I did adjust a tiny bit.


For the pizza making, I spread the sauce on two refrigerated pizza dough forms, and then added shredded chicken, shredded homegrown basil, chopped roasted red bell peppers, and mozzarella.



Here's my revamped version of Laura's awesome Pesto Cream Sauce for Pizzas:

Pesto Cream Sauce
Original source: http://www.thecookingphotographer.com/2009_04_01_archive.html




Pesto Cream Sauce
1 tbl. unsalted butter
3/4 cup fat free half and half
1/4th tsp. sea salt
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
2 Tablespoons prepared pesto (I used homemade--I'm sure Laura did too, but it's worth mentioning!)
1 1/2 tbl. grated Romano Cheese

Mix all the ingredients in a sauce pan. Stir constantly until consistency is desired.