Nick fixed Simon's car just as we were mixing up some pizza dough, and decided that a share of the yeasty bounty would be a fitting enough payment for his service. Since Bean and I usually make a whole pizza for ourselves, I embarked on a separate project: same ingredients in a different shape.
I took a quarter of our thick-crust pizza dough and let it to rest, stripped of the companionship of its flour-and-oil brethren.
Then I rolled it out and flopped it into a ramekin with some:
chopped tomatoes (from lovely Dani)
grated mozzarella and Parmesan
and brushed the top with olive oil and sprinkled on some more cheese for a delightfully delicious looking pizza kin. I left it in the oven for as long as the brothers' pizza did...probably ten minutes.
And even better was the fact that I was whisked away to fill up the moped's gas tank, and came back years later to find I had forgotten half of it, just as I was feeling as if I were missing something. My body (frighteningly often) neglects to tell me how it is feeling, and I was glad that tonight was a time when hunger would not go unnoticed by this stupidly stubborn brain o' mine.