Guess who got to play with her very own KitchenAid Stand Mixer for the first time this week?
I decided Ulla needed something special to mix for her inauguration into my kitchen. (Oh yes, Ulla. That’s her new name. It’s Swedish. And because she’s robust and strong and powerful, she obviously needed a strapping viking name.) But the recipe couldn’t be just anything. Not cookies. Not a cake mix. It needed to be something that would really demonstrate her usefulness. Something that would ease my burden. Something that would impress. Something that would please my Italian husband. And then I knew.
Pizza dough.
I scoured the internet for a recipe and settled on one that called for sugar. (Because I’m Swedish, and we Swedes like our sugar.) I then pulled her out of the corner, admiring her sparkling metal. Her smooth curves. Her matted beauty. Selecting the bread hook so she could do the kneeding for me, I linked her pieces together and snapped her belly into place. I won’t pretend like I knew what I was doing from there. I just had faith she’d do it for me.
I read and re-read the recipe. I carefully measured the temperature of the water to proof the yeast. Added some olive oil. Checked the measurements. Put in a pinch of salt. Reviewed. Rechecked. Remeasured. Timed it perfectly.
And look at her work. She was a beautiful helpmate. Never missed a beat.
But then I started to run into problems.
The dough was fine at first, but then it seemed like there was too much flour. That’s not possible. I put in a whole cup less then it called for. So I added some water. It helped the dough mix a little better, but it was getting stiff. And less and less elastic. And I decided to add a little more olive oil, to see if it would smooth out. No luck.
And then I checked the package of the yeast. Did you know yeast expires? Think the dough would still rise if the expiration date was September 09? All I could do was wait. It couldn’t be a total bust, could it?
Don’t tell anyone, but I may have made a second batch of dough using a different recipe. And it may have come out worse than the first.
Because Brandon is the Italian in this house, he made the pizza. The dough was softer once the yeast worked its magic. But it didn’t rise as much as it should have. It also wouldn’t stretch without making holes. But I think Brandon sensed I was losing hope, so he tried to make it work. I love him. I love him a lot.
On a side note, if you’re going to make pizza, you should probably make sure you have enough cheese. And marinara. And pepperoni. But if you don’t, you can always work with what you have. For example, Barbecue Sauce and chicken.
And then came the final test of my dear Ulla’s work. Did she complete her task? Was she efficient? The dough wasn’t bad. It also wasn’t good. No flavor (and yes, we seasoned it before baking). A little sticky. A little flat.
But not bad. Which means that she did exactly what she needed to do, and nothing more. Maybe we Swedes weren’t meant for Italian recipes. You can give a girl a mixer, but you gotta make sure she can cook.
