|We saw the oven getting|
fired up early in the eve.
|Enzo crisps the crusts, after moving the logs.|
The room where the pizza would be made is just across the courtyard from our door, so we could keep an eye on the progress. We saw Enzo, Luca’s dad, stoking up the fire around 6 p.m., and we stopped by to take a peak. Roberta, Luca’s sister, carried in numerous covered trays of rounded lumps of pizza dough, and by 7 p.m., Enzo’s wife Gilda and a helper, Geta, were rolling out the lumps of dough on a marble slab and putting them on large round tins. Enzo inserted them four or five at a time into the large brick oven and pulled them out after they had attained just the right degree of crispness. A little before 8 p.m., the whole crew had become involved in the process. Geta brushed the pizza tins with oil and put the crispy crusts back on the tins. Luca drizzled the crusts with olive oil, brushed on home-made tomato sauce and sprinkled each with salt, pepper and oregano.
|Geta and Gilda roll out the dough.|
|Luca works his wonders with the sauce and toppings.|
|Coals spread on oven floor.|
Lorena and Gisella brought four trays to our room, each filled with different varieties of pizza. Because Italians are sticklers for freshness and purity in their foods, I felt sure they would be as tasty as the aroma had advertised them to be, and naturally I was correct. The toppings were not piled on as they are on American pizzas, but each seemed to have a strong flavor. “It’s so good when you get it right out of the oven like that,” Lucy said. “And the olive oil they use must be really high quality, because it has such a great flavor.”
|Room service: Lorena serves|
up our first tray.
|Pizza bianca on left, dolci on right.|