Isn't she pretty? God, there is just something about pizza. Call it a flatbread, call it a pie, call it deep-dish, call it cracker-crust, call it 'za (or please don't because that's just really lame)---it's so alluring. I don't know that it's possible for me to dislike pizza, any pizza, even really bad pizza. It's one of those things, like dumplings, I think (oh, the wonder of the dumpling; extant in all cultures; universally delicious) that are good even when they're baaaad.
I had a hunk of defrosted pizza dough in the fridge for about a week, and it wasn't as springy and fluffy and gorgeous as it once had been, and it certainly wouldn't stretch (hahaha) far enough to feed two for dinner. But I also had chicken marinating in a tuscan marinade, and I was at a loss at how to get pizza to be a side dish for chicken and zucchini.
Then, I discovered, just call it a Mediterranean flatbread--problem solved!
The key, I find, is using a dry dough, small rounds, and very light toppings. You don't want wet dough at all--it will fall through the grates before it has time to toughen up. Bigger rounds are too hard to maneuver on the grill. And you only have a few precious minutes once the pizzas are topped to cook them, so go really, really easy on the toppings. I used bit of mozzerella, 3-4 halved tomato slices, torn basil, chopped kalamatas (on one) and a sprinkle of feta.
Aren't they pretty?
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