IWD Fried Pizza
On my drive home from work last night I was debating what to make for dinner. It was a bit of a rough day. I had meetings and conference calls most of the day and barely got up from my desk. It was International Women’s Day and while some striked, I worked. I considered the recommendation not to smile, but I smiled. Yet despite seemingly not participating I value these initiatives because it made me mindful of many moments throughout the day that would have typically gone unnoticed. Moments where I was appreciated and moments where I was not. Times where my voice was not heard, or where I heard the voice of other women not being heard. People smiled at me and expected me to smile back, and sometimes I smiled back honestly, sometimes at odds with how I felt. I heard myself making placations where I did not need to be. It made me question how I should be influencing others to question their biases, how I should advocate for myself and other women, how did I want to participate on women’s issues going forward.
To help me process these heavy topics, I knew that a chicken breast, broccoli, and a glass of wine wasn’t going to cut it for dinner. I decided to bring out old school comfort – fried pizza. Mom used to make this on special occasions. It’s actually quite easy, though it does involve the mess of frying. A bag of pizza dough, some flour, can of tomato sauce, parmesan cheese (does anyone else like to pronounce it parm-ease-ean?). Cut up the dough, work into small flat pieces, fry. I opted to put the sauce and cheese in a dish and we ripped off pieces and dipped. For dessert I took a dish of melted butter, some sugar in the raw, and some cinnamon and we dipped pieces in that.
Did it help me solve any of the issues facing women? Other than my own personal hunger, no. But it did make me genuinely smile and appreciate the knowledge and skills that my mother has passed on to me.