Pizza

Favourite meal: pizza (must have avo – none of this ‘in season’ nonsense.)

Now Andrew’s favourite restaurant, Mitico, offers winter specials at R65 for any pizza plus a carafe of wine. He has taken me there once or twice because then he gets two carafes of wine.  He loves the place so much that he manufactures reasons to go there for his midday prandials and is not fussy who his date is or how far away he must park. He is so undiscriminating in whom he takes with him to dine there that this holiday the owner’s eyes bulged out when he sheepishly admitted I was his wife.

The restaurant is a unique experience. Andrew is welcomed by the jovial Italian host who is always present with ‘Welcome to your dining-room.’ (Kind of true because he eats there more often) and the waitrons are friendly and also know him. Move over Cheers, everyone here knows his name. The street view is also entertaining: Hardy tourists with white ankles in shorts on ‘safari’ to see the wildlife of Africa mingle with business folk on route to luncheon meetings and students on their trendy way to general sloth. We watched an emaciated, string-haired dame wander up Kloof Street, carrying a sign which read, ‘My husband was abducted by aliens…’  Clearly the aliens sent her back. (but probably many a hausfrau around can relate, because several stop to chat): Tamboerskloof’s own Kruger Park.

Oh and the pizza is good.

At our home trattoria we make our own pizzas from scratch – well Shannon takes out her issues of the week on the dough, although in desperation (She can be fickle) Michael and Liam have taught themselves to mix them too. Fortunately no one has thought to ‘toss’ a pizza because with Shannon’s lack of ball skills we would have to clean the floor afterwards too.

It doesn’t end once the bases have been cooked (a process which requires several hours and the latest in my arty child’s music files, mixed with raucous singing – especially when Lizzy is here at her coastal residence – and young people in various stages of either  sleepwear or going-out evening attire). Preparation involves much flour, bacon and various combinations of cheese, spinach, mushrooms and feta. If I am lucky no one has nicked the last pepperdews. And of course there must be avocados. Then the bun fight starts, if you’ll excuse the mixed metaphor. You see if we’re all at home that means 9 pizzas need oven space (more if there are visitors) and heaven help the upstart who nips in to put the starving waif’s personal masterpiece in when another famished adolescent is waiting. Michael needs to be watched because he hides bacon under his cheese as well – and let me tell you there is no respect for age or beauty – it’s push in or be last – jungle rules.

It is no wonder poor Andrew escapes to the Bo Kaap to get away. My husband needs to escape the aliens.

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