Peperonata. Should be pepperonata, if you ask me. Capsicum, member of the nightshade family, Solanaceae, as are tomatoes, both native to the Americas. Hear that? Americas! And over here we call these things peppers, and we spell the word with two Ps, for reasons of our own, well, that and a slight misunderstanding begun by one Signor Cristoforo Colombo. So we should be the ones to name all dishes consisting mostly of peppers and tomatoes, no matter who thinks they invented them. Because I said so!
A friend and I are always silly together. For some reason we find the word "capsicum" especially funny pronounced delicately in precise British accent. We say the word to each other out-precising each other and cracking each other up. We're like children. Annoying children.
Not pictured above, green Anaheim chile peppers added iconoclastically for BANG ! But not too much bang because that would wreck the whole thing.
Finally, at length, following a tortuously long simmering and reduction of liquid. Six colorful and perfectly lovely bell peppers and four significantly beautiful tomatoes look like this.
On to the pizza.
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Peperonata pizza.
The dough for the pizza has already been detailed in the previous post about pizza Margherita.
Obviously, since peperonata pizza follows the day pizza Margherita was made, and the dough for pizza Margherita was aged for a day, this dough, the second half of that same batch, has been aged for two full days, effectively doubling it's agey goodness and character. Alert pizza eaters will notice a distinct tang imparted to the dough, that is if it hasn't been overwhelmed with an outrageous cornucopia of toppings in conflict, which this one hasn't. And when it is gone, that alert pizza eater will yearn for more even though their stomach is bulging from stuffing their pizza holes.
I must admit to being a little bit sad. Sad because I bought a package of prosciutto specifically for this and when I went for it I could not find it. This sends me up the wall because I'm quite good at putting things where they belong and I don't have anybody else to blame. This is the second time in a row I left that same store with something missing I paid for. I'm beginning to suspect foul play, either that, or incompetence. First no mozzarella di bufala and now this. What's a boy to do? Innovate! That's what. I still have some honey baked ham which is perfectly good so I used that instead of prosciutto which I paid for but don't have, and believe me, I looked everywhere. (Except for the truck, it could still be in there, but I doubt it because I tied the bags tightly before loading, and went to the garage twice for other things.) I tell you, I'm going to have to stop yacking it up with the checkout clerk and give my full attention to every move of the bagger.
We will not let these setbacks interfere with the glory of our peperonata pizza. Again, we toast the bread first. Moisture is pulled from it by a hot stone. The crust becomes crispy, then the toppings are added and heated through. No burning of cheese, no drying out of toppings, no puddles of oil filling tiny pepperoni cups. The crust crackles crisply when it's cut. It possesses more Old-World flavor and texture than ordinary un-aged bread. It is thin but it is sturdy and it holds up to toppings nicely. It does not become soggy or tough. Behold.
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