Part of this memory is taken from a previous post, so apologies to those of you who have been reading my blog for a bit and remember reading the original.
I may look more like my Polish half, but I definitely get my taste buds from the Italian side (not to mention my taste for wine—or could that be from my Irish blood?). I absolutely love, love, love Italian food and have a special affinity for pizza in particular.
My relationship with pizza goes way back—back to before I was born and my dad, the best pizza chef I know, had dreams of opening up his own pizza shop to be called Zeno’s (you know, since Dzenawagis’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue). Although he went as far as purchasing the equipment and acquiring the recipes, apparently it wasn’t meant to be because things fell through at the last minute (on two separate occasions) when a term in the purchase and sales agreement wasn’t agreed to. This didn’t stop him from making pizza for the family though, and he did so often.
One of my favorite childhood memories will always be making—and of course, eating—Zeno’s pizza with my family (one of my other favorite memories is stealing all the cheese he grated when he wasn’t looking). And since I’m privy to all his pro-tips and secret tricks, it’s a tradition I plan to carry on with my own kids someday (someday in the far distant future, don’t get too excited Mum).