This week we will depart once again from the merry go round of political boondoggles and fantastic stories of redemption to delve into the delicate issues of food offered today by the New York Times food section. Logic and reason are once again at stake and however minute the threat actually is we must work diligently to protect these sacred values from corruption. For what truly is life without an onion and pizza to slice? So forward we forge to ensure our slice of the pie and perhaps a tear in our eye.

Firstly we consider the plight of the Vidalia Onion. According to reports the state legislature in Georgia have strict controls on when their farmers are able to release the Onions into the consumers hands. April 21st is the date that was enacted into law by the “Vidalia Onion Act” of 1986 to apparently “protect the brand”. Far be it from the common sense of the farmer to decide when the fruits of their labors be released into the wild. Recently, despite the pleas from farmers, chefs and grocery store owners, the Georgia Agricultural Commissioner Gary Black pronounced there would be no early shipments.

For those of you not familiar with the Vidalia Onion you have been deprived of one of life’s rare treasures. This is an onion that is so mild and sweet one can slice it without fear and use it in place of bologna on a sandwich. Mayonnaise or Miracle Whip, whatever your favorite condiment is then applied and you have a gourmet treat. The onion is so mild and sweet your taste buds will dance will delight. The ways to prepare this culinary treasure are limited only by your imagination.

This law must be revised it must be abolished! Let the farmer decide when to bring forth the fruits of his labor. To rule otherwise is an abomination to nature!

The second offensive position the food section brought forth was a supposedly simple pizza dough recipe. In this simple recipe great offense was taken that the flour be measured on a gram sensitive scale. Say what!? Ye old cocaine scale!? Are we out of touch and does everyone now have a gram scale in the cupboard? But there it was in black and white. One must measure an exact amount, in grams, of two different types of flours which even had numbers assigned to them apparently correlating to how fine the grind of flour is. The recipe went on to demand that the “sea salt”, yeast and olive oil be measured gram specific as well. This was supposed to be a simple recipe mind you.

Well this is not a chemistry lesson nor is it gluten free. So gird your loins and heretofore is a simple, no fail pizza dough recipe which you can garner with your favorite toppings when you feel so inclined. Try this and you will not be perplexed or disappointed.

Reach for the flour. Four cups of the brand you prefer. If whole wheat is your preference you must temper it with a white type and use half of each. We need the gluten! There is science here but it is not gram specific. So fill one large bowl with four cups of flour. In the other large bowl fill it with one and one half cups of water. Heat the water until it is lukewarm. Use the microwave please fear not the free radicals! A minute usually does it. When it’s warm to your finger add one teaspoon of yeast, more or less, to the water and whisk it in. When it’s dissolved begin sprinkling two cups of your chosen flour to the bodacious mixture. (Yes that will be half of what’s in your other bowl.) Stir it in the same direction for a minute or two. Clockwise in the northern hemisphere and counterclockwise in the southern hemisphere. Just kidding in the same direction will work no matter where you are!

Now cover that bowl. The yeast is happy and beginning to multiply. The feared gluten is developing. Cover and let it rise in a warm place for two or four hours. If it’s bubbling you know the cells are dividing and creating the crust you want. The volume should double more or maybe less. Keep the yeast happy! If you have to…. put on jazz music to make it feel sexy. Maybe you have classical yeast! In that case play Vivaldi or whatever suits you. Rastafarian yeast? Reggae Jah Mon! Marley is good in any climate!

Take that beautiful sexy sponge of mytosis now and add a teaspoon or so of salt and a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. Get a big stirring device, stir and add the rest of your flour. When it’s too thick to stir turn it out on a well floured surface, something you can stand over and apply leverage to. Start kneading it. Press it down with your knuckles. Put flour on your hands when they get sticky. Fold it over on itself again and again. Do this for eight or ten minutes. Sip on a beer or cocktail or use your blue tooth to call your parole officer this way you can multitask. They’ll wonder what your doing as they hear all those slapping sounds.

Now take the bowl that you’ve emptied of flour and put a splash of olive oil in it. Place the living mass that you’ve created and coat it with that oil. Cover it and let it rise again. Two or four hours, or so in a warm place. When it is ready, you will know because it has doubled or more in mass. Mytosis in the workplace! Isn’t this fun!? Now you’re ready to make the pizza.

Take the dough out and divide it into workable sizes. Two will make two large pies. Be sure to use a floured board. Stretch it into a pan that has been greased with olive oil. Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Put on your favorite toppings. Cook for ten minutes and check the bottom. Don’t burn it!

“Give me an Onion and Give me breath” — Jake Shween

Get off the cell phone and drive! — Jake Shween

“That must’ve come from a dark place”

Margaret sat up in her seat startled. “Huh”

“That shout I just heard, not sure what you said exactly, sounded scary”

Margaret looked at the young man seated next to her. He had his seat table down and was fumbling with his laptop. He was a young man in his early twenties. Margaret had barely noticed him as she had sat by the window when she had boarded the flight. She had fallen asleep as soon as the flight took off. She looked at him, he smiled shyly.

“What did you hear?” she said in a desperate almost defiant way.

“Oh nothing really. I jumped because you’d been so quiet. I’m sorry my name is Roland, Roland Moffitt.”

“I’m Margaret.” Her voice sounded strange to her. It was probably the cigarettes and lack of sleep.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. I think I jumped just like you did. Long flight, wish I could sleep. Just too excited.”

Margaret lightened up a bit. She didn’t want to seem brooding and offensive. His pleasant tone seemed to temper her strain and sadness. “First time to Paris?” she asked.

“Yes!” Roland replied enthusiastically. “I’ve been accepted at the Sorbonne. Have you been to Paris?”

“Ah oui” Margaret actually smiled. This enthusiasm was somehow contagious. She remembered the first time she had been to ‘La Ville Lumiere’ the City of Lights, as a young girl visiting her Father for the first time. It was also the first time she had been on a plane alone. Her first taste of independence.

“You’ll love it. Will you be studying there?”

“Yes I will. Fine arts and science. My ambition is to be an artistic scientist. My Father thinks I’m crazy.” Roland popped his laptop closed.

“Well I say you should go for it. The world needs more artistic scientists.” Margaret looked at the window and pulled up the shutter. She thought she must look a fright. The flight was full. Only now did she realize most every passenger was awake and talking. The inflight movie was on but no one seemed to be paying any attention. She picked up her cell phone out of habit and checked the time. She had already changed it to Paris time. Now she remembered what she had been dreaming! There was a monster tearing up the wing just like in the old twilight zone episode. She thought about the missing flight in the Indian Ocean. That could be what caused the crazy exhausted dream. She grinned as it occurred to her that William Shatner was now doing those corny travel ads all these years later. From the ‘Twilight Zone’ to Priceline. Ironically that was where she had booked the flight from Dulles to Orly.

The stewards were heading down the aisle. They looked quite sprightly and proper in their British Airways uniforms. “May I get you a beverage?” he politely asking Margaret first.

“Yes may I have water please.” Margaret was parched.

“And you sir?” He smiled as he asked Roland. Margaret wasn’t sure but he looked as if he might ask Roland out for a date.

“May I please have a beer. Just surprise me with the type.” Roland looked back at Margaret as if she needed to give him permission to indulge. She caught herself grinning and half winking at him.

With the care and precision of a magician both a Perrier and Brown Ale were produced without the slightest apparent effort by the obliging steward. “Enjoy your flight and thank you for flying British Air” he remarked as he went on down the aisle.

Margaret held the Perrier to her nose and sniffed it as she had the habit of doing. She didn’t even use the plastic cup, she thought it would denigrate the purity of l’eau. She took a delicious drink and enjoyed the flavor. Roland smiled at her but in a way that made her feel safe. He respected her and she could tell that from his careful expression.

“Are you going to visit relatives?”

Rushing and tumbling. Her thoughts crashed inside her mind. How could she have been so cold? What had happened inside her mind to alienate her Father to such a degree? The teenage rebellion had never left her. She was never equipped to deal with his rejection of her ideas, so she had ventured to reject him entirely. Only now, on a flight to Paris, sitting next to an ‘artistic scientist’ did she realize the running she had been doing.

“Yes my Father.” With a choked enthusiasm now, she suddenly felt reserved.

“Is he retired in Paris?”

“Yes” she now shrank into her seat. She had never felt so small. Margaret who did television ads for the oil oligarchy had shrunk away into her seat on flight 719. She felt insignificant, she was tainted.

Roland sat back. He looked at the passengers around as if they had heard. She felt like he could shield her from their stares. She felt guilty.

“I don’t know why I’m saying this exactly but I think you’ll be okay. People are not as evil as you think, even the darkest person has moments of kindness if only to themselves.”

Margaret sat straight up in her seat. Why did he say this? It struck at the heart of her thoughts, like a song you finally hear and understand. She looked out the window. Blue and clouds. The flight went on.

“I wanted to cry, but I realized that I was too old for that. I would be a woman soon and I would have to learn how to live with a divided heart.”— Anita Diamant,

“Of all life’s pleasures, only love owes no debt to death.”— Anita Diamant

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween