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… and we’re grilling pizza. So much has happened since we’ve last written, but I’ll give you the short of it:
1. we got hitched!
2. we moved! to a cute little house on a quiet road further in to Belmont, where Gordon can hunt rabbits and we can listen to nothing but the chirping birds and the kids playing in the street.
Dining Room
Sun Room
Living Room
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Anyhoo… it’s too damn hot outside today and turning on the oven seems unthinkable. But darnit, I want pizza! So we’re grilling. Here’s a nifty little video about how to do it yourself, thanks to Allrecipes.com: http://allrecipes.com/HowTo/Grilling-Pizza-Video. I’ll post pictures when we’re finished… unless it doesn’t turn out and we’re walking down the street to get a pizza pie at Thiago’s… [Edit: grilling pizza is simple and well worth the effort… sorry Thiago’s, we’ll have to see you when grilling season is over!]
So yeah. We highly recommend grilling your pizza.
First, you put the pizza dough (we got ours at the grocery store pre-made at the deli! or if you’re really brave you can make your own) right on the super hot grill. It’s easiest if they’re kinda small so you can flip them. You’ll notice one is slightly smaller than the other and oddly shaped… this is because someone dropped the dough on to the grill. I’m not naming names but it wasn’t me and Gordon was staying cool inside. Luckily we were able to whisk it off and re-shaped it and laid it on there just in time.
Then we let them sit for a couple of minutes. And it really only took a couple of minutes. They rise up and get nice and bubbly. But you can take a fork and poke them so they’re nice and flat. Then we flipped them over with tongs (or you could use a spatula, or both if you need the extra help to get it over) and quickly started putting on the ingredients! We did homemade basil pesto, tomatoes, and mozzarella. Feel free to get creative here.
Here Mark puts on the ingredients (he made the pesto–it was AWESOME!)
I wanted my turn too. Hurry Anna! Hurry! They’re cooking fast!
Then we shut the door and let them cook for a couple more minutes. It was really hot outside… and the grill was hot too. At least it wasn’t so hot in the house. We couldn’t wait for these to cook up fast so we could eat them. Woo Pizza!
Here’s the finished product:
With a nice salad of red leaf lettuce, apples, and balsamic vinaigrette, this meal was really one of the best of the summer. MmmmmmmM!
Hopefully you’ll see more of us here now that we’re settled in and nesting in our new digs. Until then, welcome back to Le Petit Éléphant, now on Winslow Road. We’ll get to changing the banner soon, don’t you worry.
This past weekend, Mark and I traveled out to the wild, wooley west to see Marcy, my oldest friend from growing up, get married in a four-day wedding extraveganza. Wyoming is truly beautiful this time of year… if you can escape the snow, which unfortunately we didn’t. But we had an enormously fun time seeing everyone, attending parties, and participating in a beautiful ceremony that took place inside the warmth and love of our childhood church while the wind and snow blew in heaps outside.
We flew in to Casper, an oil and gas town of about 60,000, elevation more than 5,280′ in the mountain plains of Wyoming, on a beautiful fall day. I’ve actually never flown in to Casper during this time of year when the prairie cottonwoods and grasses have turned bright golds and oranges, contrasting against the evergreen junipers and lodgepole pines. By the time I get home it’s already winter and everything is dead and frozen over, or during the summer fresh in bright green. As we flew over the bluffs I was struck with the colors and how the flora stratifies just like the rock it grows on.
It was a 60 degree day, but much like New England–all we had to do was wait a minute and the weather would change.
Casper is home to many things, from one of the largest oil and gas industries in the lower 48 to Lou Tauberts Ranchwear with FIVE FLOORS of boots and hats and chaps and wranglers and lassos and bolo ties and big buckles and carharts and all kinds of western awesomeness. The city is surrounded by ranches and farms and cattle, and more North American antelope per square mile than people. But the one thing I suppose one could say Casper is famous… or infamous… for is… the Beacon. A bonafide cowboy bar.
And yes, that’s right. It says “Where the cowboys go SNEAKIN'” And OHHH MY… do they ever. And not just young cowboys. Old ones too. And cowgirls. And cowladies. They do the two-step to live music and then dance the night away to a DJ. This is an incredible site to see. Believe me–I am not making fun of this, the moves these people have are amazing. One dance in particular they do is called the “Casper Slide.” I don’t know exactly how it became the “Casper Slide,” because the dance doesn’t have anything characteristically Casper in it… just some kicking and stepping and twisting around.
I tried to catch a video of my friends doing this special dance (they are in the background… the girl with the veil is my friend Marcy), but a woman who was very in to her Casper Sliding stepped right in and stole the limelight… anyhow. Watch and you’ll get the idea… both about the dance and about the awesomeness of the Beacon.
All Sneakin to the Beacon silliness aside, the wedding was beautiful and sweet and lovely. We laughed and cried. We took too many pictures. We watched our friend become Mrs. Marvel. We ate salmon caught by Marcy’s father and bacon-wrapped cheese-filled jalapenos (well, Mark did in any case–I stuck to the cheesy potatoes!). We danced and drank too much wine. And did I mention it snowed? It did. During the wedding and the reception and all through the night until more than a foot blanketed some areas and we all threw rose petals at Marcy and her Eric as they bundled into the limo and we all slid home to our warm beds.
In the morning, I awoke to this:
The snow kept us home one extra day due to a late flight and a would-be missed connection. It was nice to be home, even for what only seemed like a minute, where the old dogs still love you and your bed is made just the same way it used to be. The smells are there–for me it’s cider and something good cooking on the stove mixed with something I can’t categorize but that feels so familiar. The colors and the weather and the dogs and the smells… they all remind me that no matter where I may be, Wyoming will always be my home.
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