Pizza Dreams
Pizza figures prominently in my food memories. When we were growing up, at least until my brother got married and left home, my mother made homemade Sicilian pizza for dinner every Friday night. She baked it in these special one inch deep stainless steel pans that my father had made for her, the pans that I inherited and that I still use more than 60 years later when I make pizza. Back in 2000, my sister, Toni, and I took a tour to Italy and after a stop at the ruins in Pompeii, we all had pizza and calzones at a pizzeria in Naples on our way back to Rome. I always remembered that pizza. Bubbly, chewy crust, stringy, gooey cheese, fresh basil. Pizza heaven. I knew I wanted to eat pizza in Napoli again in my lifetime. This trip to Sicily gave me the perfect chance. This morning we flew from Istanbul to Naples, then took a shuttle to the train station where we would board a 9 hour train bound for Palermo later in the day. What better way to kill some time than hang out in a trattori...