Then I read Lori's post, with a review of the book, Almost French: Love and a New Life in Paris by Sara Turnbull, and how the author married a Frenchman lived in France for 8 years, adopted many French customs, but never became French. More nostalgia ensured and I thought about how my own life in France was a long time ago and only lasted three years, but has had a lasting effect on me.
Over the weekend, Kate shared something new for dinner, a spinach, egg and pecorino pizza ... which got me thinking about my favorite pizza when I lived in France. It had a thin crust and was topped with a tomato sauce, lardons (a style of bacon), eggplant and an egg. For lunch today, my pizza had these, along with some mushrooms.
My pizza crust wasn't as thin, but had a nice crisp bottom (thanks to the cast iron pizza pan) and my pizza was piled high with the veggies in a very UN-French way, and I don't actually remember whether there was cheese on top way back when and next time I'll try it without, but all the flavors from my memory was there and it was a nice culinary trip down memory lane.
The only thing missing was the pili-pili–an oil infused with chile peppers and herbs. In Provence, where there's pizza, there's pili-pili in a bottle, sitting on the tables, to be drizzled on top of the pizza. I had completely forgot about it until my pizza was sliced and on a plate and I realized it was missing. I'm going to try making some–this recipe from the New York Times looks like the stuff I remember–for the next time the Internet makes me nostalgic for my favorite French pizza.