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.
Six capsicums of various colors. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. See? I told you it's funny. Six bell peppers, two large onions sliced thinly, sautéed then cooked on low for a very long time, like hours. Oh, I don't like doing that to vegetables. It runs counter to my culinary religion. I'm sorry, Tomatoes, this is not my idea. You know how much I would prefer to use you raw, but that will not work here.
Peperonata keeps well for about a week, maybe a little longer if you're lucky, and can be used many ways, as we shall see.
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.
This mixture is sweet. Sweet with a fleeting zing of heat from the Anaheims which were hotter than usual. And although it tastes fantastic and is perfect for many things, it still makes me a little sad to do such a thing to such wonderful vegetables that are so good just as they are. The only thing added here was a drizzle of salt onto the initial sautéing of onion with the butter and olive oil. Tasting it, you'd insist sugar was added but it was not.
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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