The woman kneads the dough on a flour-dusted counter-top. Her frail wrists work the mixture expertly, as she shapes it into a ball and puts it in an old mixing bowl to let it rest. A little coating of olive oil on top and she covers it with a clean dish towel. Carefully, she passes the bowl to the little girl and tells her it’s time to tuck it into bed. Just four and a half years old, the little girl holds the “magic bowl” with all her strength. The ceramic is heavy and cool in her arms, but she is careful not to drop it. Together they bring the bowl into the bedroom and place it in the bed, pulling the thick down comforter and a quilt over the top. “Now we wait,” she says, “and try not to make too much noise, the dough needs to rest.”
Later that day the bowl is back on the counter and she is stretching the dough across the pan with nimble, olive oil-slicked fingers. A first round in the oven, she waits for it to become a little brown on the edges before taking it out and spreading her homemade tomato sauce across the top, followed with a sprinkling of mozzarella cheese. It goes back into the oven until the cheese starts bubbling and the kitchen is overwhelmed with the smell of grandma’s homemade pizza baking the oven. When its time to pull it out, she cuts it into big squares. She tells the little girl, “wait, let it cool, don’t forget to blow,” but the little girl is impatient, sneaks a bite when grandma isn’t looking and burns the roof of her mouth anyway.
The next morning, when the family sits in the living room sharing their morning cup of coffee, the little girl curls up in the lap of her mother and eats a slice of the pizza cold. “Grandma’s pizza is always better the next morning,” her mother says.
Pia has her B.A. in Anthropology, Social Entrepreneurship, and International Affairs from Northeastern. She's deeply passionate about changing "the system" (or systems, e.g. food, patriarchal, political...) and using butter liberally while cooking.