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On Cooking

Three-Cheese Barley Pizza with Shrimp, Broccoli, & Tomato-Carrot Sauce

4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 recipe barley dough
(see below)
1 recipe tomato-carrot sauce (see below)
1 cup shredded mozzarella
1 cup shredded cheddar
1/2 cup grated parmesan
1 head broccoli, cooked and chopped
1/2 pound shrimp, peeled, de-veined, and cooked

Preheat an oven to 450F. Oil an 18-inch pizza pan with two tablespoons olive oil. Place the dough in the center of the pan and using your fingers; gently push it to the edges of the pan. Allow the dough to rest for 20 minutes. Spread the sauce evenly across the dough, then sprinkle the mozzarella, cheddar, and parmesan. Arrange the broccoli and shrimp on the pizza. Bake the pizza for 15–20 minutes, or until the dough is crisp and topping bubbling. Let the pizza rest for five minutes before slicing.

Barley Dough

1/3 cup barley
4 cups water
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oatmeal
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon instant yeast,
divided
2 cups bread flour
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

Bring the barley and water to a boil, then lower it to a simmer. Cook the barley for about 45 minutes, or until soft. Allow the barley and cooking liquid to cool to room temperature. Drain the barley, reserving one cup cooking liquid. Combine the following ingredients in the bowl of an upright mixer: the cooking liquid, the barley, whole wheat flour, oatmeal, honey, olive oil, and yeast. Stir, cover, and set aside for 1-12 hours, allowing the grains and yeast to ferment. Add the remaining teaspoon yeast, the bread flour, and the salt. Using a dough hook attachment, knead the dough, first on low speed and then on medium for about eight minutes. Transfer the dough to a floured work surface and knead the dough by hand for another couple of minutes. Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover it and let it rest for about an hour, or until doubled in size.

Tomato-Carrot Sauce

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 small onion, diced
1 medium carrot, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon fennel seed
1/2 teaspoon crushed hot pepper
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon basil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup tomato puree
1/2 cup water

Heat the olive oil in a small sauce pot. Add the onion and carrot and sauté until they just begin to brown, then add the garlic and cook a minute longer. Stir in the sugar, fennel, hot pepper, oregano, basil, salt, and black pepper; cook one minute. Stir in the tomato puree and water, bring to a boil then lower to a simmer. Cook for about 1/2 hour, or until desire flavor and consistency. Stir to avoid scorching.

I woke this morning on my day off to find not only gray skies with low-lying clouds, but also melancholy running through me like a slow undertow. As often is the case when these moods arise I need to do something with my hands; I need to create. While I dabble with various creative outlets, my most comfortable one is cooking. Carl Jung wrote that creativity is an instinct, not an optional gift granted to a lucky few. I feel blessed that I recognize this innate urge.

After my third cup of coffee almost unconsciously I chop an onion, a carrot, and then a few garlic cloves, marveling that they grew underground nestled in the cool earth while their aboveground shoots reached for the sun. I sauté the onion and carrot in olive oil first, bringing out their sweetness, then the garlic, adding a pinch of crushed hot pepper and whole fennel seed just before the garlic browns. When I pour tomato puree into the pan it initially sputters and splashes like it’s alive and rebeling against the heat.


I’ve been asked if I, as someone who cooks for a living, ever get tired of cooking. Yes and no. Yes, I find working and everyday life exhausting, but no, I don’t tire of cooking. Sometimes when working as kitchen manager as I do now or as chef as I have in the past, food becomes a product. A product that moves from point A (the back door) to point B (the customer’s plate), and like any product it has a price tag on it. At work there are costs to worry about, staffing issues, etc. But at home cooking can be therapy.

There’s a bread starter bubbling away on my counter that I put together the night prior with barley water, flour, and a pinch of yeast. I add cooked barley to it, along with more flour and a little salt. Instead of using an electric mixer as I usually do, I knead the dough by hand. The dough feels good in my fingers, and as I push and pull on it, stretching and aligning its gluten, I can feel my own muscles straining against its resistance. I revel in the fact that, other than commercial yeast, this dough is made pretty much the same as it has for millennia.

After the dough rises I fold it inward and pause just for a moment to reflect inwardly myself. Then I refrigerate the dough to slow its fermentation. Somehow this is comforting to me, imagining that I am in control of something. I leave the dough to rest while I go to the health club, and while I swim I imagine the yeast multiplying and populating the dough, creating air pockets and rising.

I’ve always taken a somewhat contemplative approach to cooking, wanting to know about the food’s history, origin, and etymology. And when I take the dough out of the refrigerator and it is fully risen, it looks beautiful. Bread has been used as a symbol in many ways and referred to by many names, but the one that comes to mind as I hold the raw dough in my hand is an Arabic one, ayshe, which simply means life.

After rolling the dough flat, I top it with sauce, shrimp, cheese, and broccoli, and then put it in the refrigerator to rest while I pick up my son from school. Later, after baking it, we watch Seinfeld reruns and eat the pizza. I can’t help but analyze the pizza as I eat it: noting the sweetness of the shrimp and sauce, and how the barley that caramelized around the edges adds a nice texture. During a commercial my son, with a gleam in his eye, remarks that it’s really good. The commercial ends and we go back to eating pizza and watching the program. It is really good, I think to myself. Everything is really good.