As Ben rolled out the dough and I stirred the sauce and shredded the cheese, George (aka Grandpa) and our two daughters were out in the “Pizza Garden” plucking tomatoes, peppers, basil, and oregano. It was all in preparation for a Communal Pizza we made while on vacation in Northern Michigan.
Each member of the family who even walked by the kitchen had an opinion on what to add–How about that sausage? You’ve got to have olives and onions. What about something yellow? Soon, the blank canvas of dough cooking outside on the grill became a portrait of the tastes of our particular group of people, on that day at that moment.