the easter pizza

This year there will be no baskets.  No chocolate bunnies or eggs or beans…nothing  The past three years Tim and I have managed to purchase around thirty pounds of candy and chocolate and pack each others baskets so full that lifting one requires a spotter.  Who needs colored grass when all the space is taken up by the goods?

I told Tim I didn’t want anything this year.  Not one single marshmallow Peep.  He looked at me like, Really??  NO CANDY?? 


We are going to attempt the infamous Easter Pizza again though.  It is basically bread dough with a mix of ricotta cheese, cinnamon, sugar and eggs in the middle.  You make the dough, roll it out, make a boat shape, put the ricotta mix in the middle of the boat and then put a piece on top and close it all up.  It looks like this in its final form.  I have no idea why it is called Easter pizza… you don’t even cut it into triangular slices…Tim said it was called an Easter pizza, so I went with it.


Looks simple enough but that thing is a behemoth to prepare.  The first year we made it Tim wanted to do it exactly like his mom and grandmother because apparently the chemistry and mixing had to be done just right for the pizza to turn out.  This meant him creating a large dam of flour on the kitchen counter and then pouring all the wet ingredients in the middle of the dam and slowly mixing the dam with the liquid.

Well, our dam broke.

Tim had a knee jerk reaction and threw his entire upper body and arms onto the counter and around the Easter pizza river now flooding in all directions.  He was yelling at me, saying “DO SOMETHING!”  and I was laughing so hard it made doing anything a challenge.  I managed to find a large mixing bowl and started scooping everything into it.  Once it was mostly under control, Tim lifted his body off the counter.  We found Easter pizza ingredients under the microwave oven, behind the cutting board, on the floor… it was everywhere. We slid all of the stuff on the counter into the bowl.  Tim was sure we had ruined it.  He was adamant.  It was not going to turn out.  It was going to be awful.

We made it anyway, not knowing if we had too much or not enough of any one thing because we had to add additional ingredients because we didn’t know how much we scraped stuff off the counter and we refused to use whatever was on the floor.

Tim finally got the stuff into a dough-like consistency, rolled it out and did the whole boat thing, put the ricotta in, closed it up and to the oven it went.  He kept checking to make sure it didn’t turn a strange color.  His aunt made it once and it turned a puke-colored shade of orange and based on how we butchered the recipe, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tim thought it would morph into a giant egg, turn blue and spit acid at you anytime you opened the oven to take a peek.

Whatever we did – it worked.  The pizza turned out golden brown and delicious, just like it did when Tim’s mom made it when he was little…good thing, too, because it was on the menu for weeks.  Due to all of the extra ingredient adding, the pizza ended up being three times the size it was supposed to be and we’re only two people…

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