Thin Pizza

Whew. Yesterday’s second performance of the orchestra concert went really well. Grandma and Dad were there in the audience, and they enjoyed it. This one was at Saddlebrooke, which is a planned community north on Oracle Road just a couple of miles before the Biosphere. Planned or not, I saw a big fat javelina eating someone’s landscape plants in broad daylight. I am a little bit favorably impressed with Saddlebrooke because in addition to the inevitable golf and tennis clubhouses, it had a performance center and a library.

We didn’t cook after the concert, but instead ordered fashionable pizzas. That means they had a very thin, cracker-like crust and scant toppings. They were also little, so we ordered three: portabella and artichoke, sausage and carmelized onion, and tapenade with thin-sliced potatoes. The salads were chopped, which is trendy here. (There is even a restaurant named “Chopped.”) Everything was tasty, but it wasn’t a real pizza experience, which to me involves gooey cheese and a certain amount of breadiness.

The name of that Southwest cookbook? It’s a secret.

Please don’t make cat food. I’ll send you some money to buy it if necessary. Imagining the smell is making me very unhappy, and I might not be able to visit you ever again. On the bright side, I really enjoyed that cat nutrition website.

My Portuguese labor-intensive marinated pork chops weren’t very good. The pork was too lean for that treatment, and it was dry. It was to be served with bread dipped in the marinade and then fried in butter and olive oil—now THAT was good!