Mme. Pépin: Tortilla Pizza

Since this weekend was a tad all over the place due to holiday festivities, I didn't want anything too complicated for Sunday night's meal. It was to be a smaller gathering, so I decided that the Tortilla Pizzas would be appropriate for size and difficulty. Unfortunately, Mme. Diat had to cancel as she had family obligations. The number for dinner would be four.

They were really quite simple, and I highly recommend making them as a quick dinner. Mme. Poupée and myself stopped by Jewel to pick up the few ingredients that were required. Upon arriving home, we got another dinner guest involved (the fourth was running late) and formed an assembly line of sorts. I prepped the tortillas (flour as I'm allergic to corn) by coating them in olive oil on both sides and sprinkling on some parmesan cheese as Mme. Poupée sliced the tomatoes and the remaining guest grated the fresh mozzarella. We placed the tomato slices atop the tortilla, sprinkled it with cheese and then put it in the oven at 500° for 8 minutes. Upon completion in the oven fresh basil was cut up and placed on top.

It was a success (marking our second success that weekend) and was both simple and flavorful. Jacques also has recipes under that recipe for a salmon pizza and a seafood pizza.

Mme. Poupée: The Why

When I was a little girl, I would sit content watching my mother bake all sorts of goodies. Cookies, pie, cake, brownies, everything she made tasted delightful. I would always lean into the counter, pointer finger first, only for her to stop me and say, "Help me by watching, not touching!"

This, I believe, set me on the path I am now: undomestic goddess.

Never did I get to measure out flour, crack an egg, or spoon butter into a pan. Occasionally, if I was a good girl and if my mother left the room, I got to lick the spoon.

Now that I am a grown woman nearing my mid twenties and finally living on my own, I am embarrassed to say that I consider Velveeta mac and cheese a challenge. Armed with a decent sized kitchen but no counter space or any sort of entertainment, and cheap utensils that typically bend out of shape, I can honestly say I hate to be in the kitchen. I have no desire to be a good cook. Scratch that. No desire to be any kind of cook! There is even a joke I have yet to live down that involves a whisk and spatula. How was I supposed to know the difference?

Currently, I am in training for the longest run of my life, a marathon. I train after my work hours and arrive home often after the 8 o'clock hour. After a shower, I am in no hurry to cook myself something. My dinners have been as follows: a bowl of cereal, or oatmeal, or an apple, and if I'm feeling really brave, I will microwave some dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. Embarrassing, I know.

When Mme. Pépin informed me of the loss of her dear godmother and the cookbook project, my first thoughts were that the dishes would be too complicated for me to help. I own two cookbooks. One of which is a book on stirring up cocktails. I am completely unqualified. I figured I could help by bringing some bread or some cookies, I do have a sweet tooth, or return to my days as a little doll and "Help by watching".

I hope that as the project continues, I become more useful and take some of the knowledge with me. Both Mme. Pépin and Mme. Diat have so much to offer with their cooking skills and I would be happy to be half the cook they are someday. I don't even have the patience to start a recipe. One day, I hope to tackle on a meal by myself and prove to myself that I can be a good cook. Here's to hoping..