post-graduate school pizza

I know, I know. It has been 10 freakin' months since I graduated. It's about time I got over that whole "recent graduate" thing, right? Eh, maybe. I am still trying, however, to figure out me. What do I like to do? What am I here for? What day is it? I spent last week in Tennessee, catching up with family and friends (the only sad part of the trip was leaving). One other "recent graduate" mentioned how he can't seem to get anything done in a timely manner anymore. Me, neither! I used to have such precious free time that I rigorously timed all of my "to-do" lists, ensuring I got the most "bang" for my buck (or in this case, for my minute). Now, I feel like I accomplish nothing. And I sit on that "I can do it tomorrow" reason more often than not.

I am working on it.

I did go above and beyond my frozen pizza self last night and created some homemade wonderment. It started with my garden (or what is left of my garden in this Louisiana heat!). I had an abundance of tomatoes and basil.

What's a girl to do with all that? Attempt a Bohemian dinner, complete with dough-made-from-scratch, feta cheese, kalamata olives, roasted garlic, and (of course) tomatoes and basil! I will admit that my kitchen skills are rusty. Once upon a time, I envisioned myself as one June Cleaver, cooking and baking perfection with the wrinkle of my nose (wait... that's the wrong mid-twentieth century TV housewife). Then I went to graduate school and had no time (hence frozen pizza and a stouter waistline). So last night was an experiment. This was one of the many things I told myself I would be allowed to do upon graduation.

Kneading dough used to be fun and now it is just a puzzle. Is it kneaded enough? What is this "smooth and elastic?" What makes yeast smell funny? I followed the directions rather than using that little June Cleaver inside voice that was yelling at me. "Too much! You are kneading it too much!" I let it set, then rolled it out, like instructed.

I just wanted to eat the pizza then, it looked so good (and because making the dough took so long, I was particularly hungry). I baked the pizza, like instructed.

When it came out of the oven, I was beyond impressed with myself (ask my parents- this is not an uncommon occurrence).

It looks amazing, right? Too bad I didn't listen to that June Cleaver voice; the dough was tough, indicating how I worked the dough too much. But the fact that I made a fancypants pizza all by myself with stuff I grew all by myself overcame the over-kneaded dough as I sat myself down to a delicious dinner and took one small step closer in the direction of figuring out my post-graduate self.