Two cups short of yummy

That’s right: the pizza dough recipe was short two cups of flour. There I was, sweating over the kitchen counter, re-checking the recipe to confirm that I had done everything by the book and wondering why the damned mixture still had the consistency of pancake batter — there I was, indeed, oozing sweat and frustration from every pore, when it hit me: the recipe called for almost 1:1 flour-to-liquid ratio, and I expected something other than a gloppy mess? Duh.

I came across the recipe in the June issue of Yummy. Take a good look at that list of ingredients; if you still can’t tell what got me interested in it then you don’t know me at all. It’s the beer, of course! Beer is always good, especially on hot and humid afternoons; after measuring out the quarter of a cup that the recipe called for, there was plenty left in the bottle to imbibe. It had seemed an auspicious start to a home-baked dinner.

Actually, at first I thought it was the beer’s fault. It had given me this slight buzz as to make me doubt that I had followed instructions. Did I steep the yeast in lukewarm water for a few minutes until bubbly? Check. Did I mix the rest of the ingredients in a bowl before adding the yeast mixture? Check. Did I knead the dough on a…

But how could I? It was like trying to knead porridge, which was to say, impossible. For dough to be kneadable, it has to be thick, soft, or stiff — qualities which mine did not have. I ended up consulting other dough recipes and there it was: a rough 2:1 flour-to-liquid ratio. “That’s why it says ‘plus more for dusting,’ dummy,” my sister pointed out.

You reckon, people? Granted (and I give that grudgingly), you need more flour “for dusting” — but what’s there to dust if you have none to hold onto to knead in the first place? How much is “more,” anyway? A handful? One cup? Two? A frickin’ sackful?

Yes, I’m nitpicking. Still, when dinner hangs in the balance because some editor failed to grasp that 2 cups of flour + an equal amount of liquid = a bowl of sludge, you have good reason to get all hot and bothered (and I mean it literally). Strike one for Yummy…

Was it any good, though? It was interesting and I kind of liked it. Ma didn’t. I told her it was only because she knew about the beer, but she was adamant. “You added something else,” she said. “What was it?”

Mothers — they do have a sixth sense. That extra ingredient? It’s called vexation.