It’s Pizza of the Month time, guys! When my husband got me a pizza oven for Christmas, I knew that I was going to have fun experimenting with different flavor combinations. I found a great crust recipe early in January, and we’ve been making pizzas pretty regularly ever since. In addition to plain old pizza, we’ve put together a Thai Chicken Pizza and a Pulled Pork Pizza. Both were delicious, and we devoured them in a few short days. This time, though, I made a winner. Hand’s down, best pizza I’ve made thus far. Honestly, it might be the best dinner I’ve made in a while. Yeah, it was that good.
When I was a kid, my Granddad would take us fishing quite regularly. We would get up at the crack of dawn and go to the beach, casting our lines and seeing what we came up with. Oftentimes, it was nothing, and our trips would end at Dunkin for conciliation donuts. While these trips were fun, the highlight was going deep sea fishing every summer. It was a family affair, in which ten or fifteen of us would head down to the docks, board the party boat, and eat our bagels as we sailed out. These trips were memorable — like the time my uncle caught a fishing pole, or my sister caught a crab — but we didn’t always catch enough flounder to make a meal of it. So, we’d head to the food store, buy extra fillets, and go back to the house where we would fry it all up and sit around recounting tales of the day.
For the first time in this project, I wasn’t hoping to get a particular country for the letter “E.” I’m not hugely familiar with any of the cultures and thus was game for whatever fate threw at me. So when I pulled Ecuador, I was more than ready to start researching what “typical” cuisine was. And, apparently, there isn’t one all encompassing national dish. Instead, various regions have their own local fare. While the coastal areas tend to rely on fresh and light seafood based dishes, the mountainous areas feature heartier meat and potato type dishes.
The one result my research yielded was that the people of Ecuador tend to universally enjoy a meat called cuy. Upon further investigation, I discovered that cuy is actually guinea pig. Now I don’t know about you, but I figured my local butchers would look at me like I had six heads if I asked for three fillets of guinea pig, fat trimmed off. And, much like they did when I was a young child begging for a puppy, my parents refused to take me to the pet store. I always assumed that there was a line where my parents’ adventurous natures would abate and their skeeviness would set in for this project; it turns out that line is guinea pig.