It’s generally understood that Labor Day brings people together for one last grillfest. One last chance to fire up the barbie and sear the pants off any number of meat products (and by-products–poor, misunderstood hotdogs).
Two days prior to the big end-of-summer event, we visited family, whereby no grills were in service. Our Pre-Labor pangs were arrested with baking sheets piled high with homemade pizza–available with sausage or pepperoni toppings. These were just as I like them. Thin, crispy crust, with enough sauce so as not to be overpowered by too much cheese. I like the cheese to be finished off so that it’s a crispy, quasi-blackened canvas, with a thin veneer of oil pooled within its crevices. Call me particular.
My mother-in-law prides herself on serving healthy meals. Given that one of her son’s (not my hubby) had produced this not-so-healthy main course–if you can call pizza a main course, and I’m sure I have–she just couldn’t resist moving about the room, offering a large bowl of red, seedless grapes to up the meal’s health quotient.
As you can see, pizza and grapes seem to balance each other out rather nicely. If only drummer boy and his Uncle Kent would appreciate the health quotient as much as mother-in-law does.