In honour of the fact that on Sunday, 5 June (yes, this year), the seventh series of The Next Food Network Star begins its run - a reasonably long-standing and almost anticipated tradition here at Misanthropaea, as you both may recall - I decided to follow in the virtual footsteps of one of my blogging heroes, Rachel, and post a recipe, because the other stuff I have to post after a long hiatus will take more time...
Not feeling especially adventurous one dark and stormy night late last week - a dark and stormy night not unlike the other dark and stormy nights which have been a persistent hallmark of the so-called spring season these last few weeks - I decided I could not avail myself of an arduous and possibly treacherous drive to the grocery when I probably should have been putting the finishing touches on the ark I probably ought to have been building in the back yard in case the rains weren't going to be letting up any time soon.
As almost all single people do when they are hungry, I made several resolute trips to the refrigerator to stare dutifully into the bleak white interior as though the contents might somehow change at some point from a meagre handful of unsatisfactory ingredients to a veritable cornucopia of edible joys (they didn't) and then browsed through my 'pantry' (giant industrial grade metal rack tucked in a corner) for the same outcome, only to be sorely disappointed again and again.
Staring, Pooh-like, about the kitchen - Think, think, think... - it eventually occurred to me, as it occasionally does, that pizza sounded particularly tasty. Strangely, however, as evil and soulless as I am often believed to be, I could not bring myself to have some luke-warm inferior representation of a pizza delivered to me in a luxurious cardboard container by some irritated teenager put out by the fact that he'd been forced to make a arduous and possibly treacherous delivery on a dark and stormy night in his second-hand rusted out Wagon Queen Family Truckster.
Instead, I opted to make my own. Problem was, of course, I hadn't any precisely Italian-oriented ingredients apart from a plastic shaker of parmesan cheese and a slim selection of herbs tucked back in a cabinet. They were tucked back in a cabinet because a certain Ms Ina Morata, not being overly fond of greenish flavourful things (or even greenish healthful things, unless they could be roasted over an open flame and sopped in eye-wateringly hot barbecue sauce) has a tendency to remove them from immediate site lest I be careless and accidentally add some to whatever I happen to be cooking. However, as she'd not been about for some time, I retrieved the sage/oregano/thyme blend I'd once thrown together for use in cooking and, with two moderately Italian ingredients at my disposal, I considered my next move.
It is said that Necessity, like Frank Zappa, is a Mother of Invention. So, too, is not wishing to venture out in gale-force winds and driving rain. Thus I decided to create a Cajun chicken club pizza, inspired by the Cajun chicken club wrap I used to sell when I had my coffeehouse (and more information on that bit sometime later - the coffeehouse, not the wrap).
First, then, is the dough - hand-made, of course - and a fairly straightforward process although I do tend to deviate just a bit from tradition: In a bowl, mix 1 cup of warm (not hot) water with about a teaspoon of sugar dissolved into it and a packet of yeast whisked in until you get a nice frothy beigey colour. The sugar, as does the warm water, makes the yeast very happy. And happy yeast is good yeast.
In another bowl, mix together 3 cups of flour (all purpose is fine), 1 teaspoon of baking powder (for reasons explained later), 1/4 teaspoon of salt, 3 tablespoons of grated parmesan cheese, 2 tablespoons of Italian herbs, and 1 tablespoon of garlic powder. Slowly combine the flour mixture with the yeasty beigey water and knead the dough into a nice springy ball until it doesn't look like this (see above) any more. Let it rest for about an hour. I typically return the dough to one of the bowls and set it inside the oven (yes, which is currently switched off) because that's what I do. Your mileage my vary.
In the meantime, now you've got about an hour or so to kill, take a cue from the Charlie Papazian book of life and 'Relax, have a homebrew' or whatever fizzy yellow sissy excuse for a beer you prefer to enjoy in the hour you have and congratulate yourself on a job not done. My drink of choice on said dark and stormy night was a nice malty porter I had made about eight months before. And whilst you're quite incorrectly contemplating just how bloody awful an eight month old dark beer must taste, I will laugh at your silly misconceptions and commercial beer industry-led belief that Born-On dates must be rigidly adhered to and that the only thing worth drinking is a thin rice-based week-old foamy lager with as much to do with the 'Fine German Tradition' of making beer as young Steve Urkel has to do with the fine tradition of masculinity.
Now you've enjoyed a fine beer or at least given the illusion of having enjoyed a vaguely beer-like substance, you still have almost 59 minutes remaining. Thus it is time to prepare the various other bits eventually needed to assemble your pizza. This is what is known in the culinary world as Mise en Place, a little something not often well practised in years past by some hopeful cast members of The Next Food Network Star (and most certainly a fine tradition to be upheld this year as well) which, depending upon your preference, means 'everything in its place' or 'putting in place.' This is not to be confused with the cinematic or stage term Mise-en-Scène (placing or putting on stage) or with the amusingly descriptive Mise-en-Thrope (see Useless Information down to your right). I liken it to the gastronomic equivalent of 'Everything in its place and a place for everything,' which may have more to do with my OCD.
But I digress...
Because a true 'club' sandwich is not smeared with tomato sauce, and because I didn't happen to have any tomato sauce anyway, I opted for the more traditional route and created a mayonnaise based sauce. Oh sit down. Where's the fun if you can't experiment or play with your food once in a while?
In a bowl, mix 3/4 cup of mayonnaise, a 1/4 cup of water (because it helps make the mayonnaise more spreadable and also because mayonnaise has a fairly high viscosity which retains a surprisingly intense level of heat for many days after the pizza is finished), 2 cloves of crushed garlic, 3 tablespoons of parmesan cheese (because, which I think is explanation enough), a dash of salt and, optionally, 1 teaspoon of cayenne pepper. Whisk these together until it doesn't look like a great wad of watery goo. And note that if you do, in fact, use the cayenne, the resulting sauce will have a slightly pinkish hue which may be disturbing to some viewers.
If, for some very strange reason, you have had the sad misfortune of buying some sort of industrial grade extra heavy mayonnaise (yes, you can actually buy that) which has the consistency of fresh drywall joint compound, you'll discover that the process of whipping this mixture together, providing you are physically capable of dragging the whisk through the mixture, will result in stiff peaks, like... a meringue. You do not want that. Trust me. Stiff peaks are highly prized in many venues. But not here. The first bite of pizza after approximately six weeks of cooling will still likely cauterise the roof of your mouth. You will need to whisk in water, just a small amount at a time, until your end result will 'ribbon' from the end of your whisk. You have been warned. End of disclaimer.
In your favourite pan (I use my wok which is considerably older than the average age of most visitors to or those who have stumbled upon this blog by accident whilst looking for KatieFun789 or information on pens best suited for writing on thermal paper) dice and fry a one-pound package of bacon and, after that (and after you've drained out almost all of the bacon grease) dice and fry a chicken breast, as these are much tastier on a pizza when they are well cooked than raw pork or raw poultry.
(As a helpful hint, use a frozen chicken breast if possible - they are ever so much easier to chop in smaller, uniform pieces. That also plays to my OCD, of course, but long-time fans of Food Network or The Cooking Channel will understand the importance of correct 'knife cuts'). To the chicken, add 2 or 3 (if you're up to it) heaping tablespoons of Cajun spice.
Now your bacon and Cajun chicken are fully prepared, thinly slice a small onion (or finely chop a bunch of scallions if that's what you happen to have at hand) and grate about three cups of sharp cheddar cheese. Or use packaged cheese. That works too. Then take a moment to enjoy another beer. You've earned it.
At this point it's probably best to explain the inclusion of baking powder in the pizza dough. (And I'm sure you're relieved that I hadn't just left you hanging all this time with unanswered questions). The oven I have (which came with the house and has not been updated because I've not got any closer to that long-awaited kitchen remodel yet) is a built-in wall oven circa the 1950s and, being only just a few small steps away from a Kenner Easy-Bake Oven, can only accommodate pans less than 15.5 inches wide. And the one pizza pan I have is, naturally, just over 16 inches.
The solution to this dilemma is to bake the pizza in a cast iron skillet, and the baking powder allows the dough to puff nicely and stay softer during the just a wee bit longer cooking time required. Otherwise the dough becomes brittle and slices the roof of your mouth into bleeding shreds. Of course if you don't heed the prior advice about extra heavy mayonnaise, the wounds would be instantly seared into painful seeping blisters the very second the sauce hits your mouth.
Hungry? Me too!
Remove the dough from wherever you're storing it and begin pre-heating your oven to 400 degrees. If all went well, your dough should have doubled in size. Divide it into two sections. Take two 10-inch cast iron skillets and lightly coat them with olive oil and (if you have it available) dust them with a light coating of corn meal (it will make removing the slices that much easier and stops the crust burning).
Knead the dough again on a lightly floured surface and roll out each section and place them into the skillets, making sure that the dough reaches about 3/4 up the sides.Why? Because.
At this point you are ready to assemble the pizza. Spread out your mayonnaise sauce (there will be extra - trust me on this - but it is better than stopping everything at the last second to make just a little more sauce because you ran out), cover the sauce with a layer of cheddar cheese, add the chicken, bacon, onions, and top it off with a little more cheese. Use your own judgement. You know how you like your pizza. Lastly, I add another small dash of Cajun spice, a dash of salt, and a little freshly ground pepper (actually a blend of black, white, and red pepper). You would not believe how many people neglect the basic step of a little salt and pepper on a pizza. Makes all the difference in the world. Really.
Toss the pizzas into your oven and set a timer for about 12 minutes. You may have to monitor them depending on the nature of your own oven, but when the cheese is melty and just starting to turn golden, you're good to go. If you want to be doubly certain that the dough is correctly cooked, you could brush it with a little olive oil before baking so it gets the nice tell-tale brown on the edges. Otherwise, if you're a good judge of properly baked breads, remove the pizza from the oven and tap the crust. You'll know. You'll hear the sound. And, no, by the way, the image up there was not taken in bad light. It's cheddar cheese. It's supposed to be yellow.
Lastly, two things. One, pot-holders are a good idea. There are very few more excruciating and life-altering surprises than discovering first-hand just what the latent heat of conduction is all about. And, two, utensils are largely unecessary here, apart from the expert and careful wielding of a very sharp knife or one of those fun roundy things made just for ploughing through steamy melty pizza.
That's it. Slice. Enjoy. Repeat. After you've let it cool a bit.
And, because you made two of these, you will have something for later. Aren't you clever?
For a printer-friendly version of this recipe, feel free to cut and paste the pertient bits into a word processor programme and print them out, as it only just occurred to me that I hadn't provided that. Oh well. Perhaps it's time to enjoy another beer...
