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Because I totally forgot!  Seriously, I was so distracted by little feet at my feet and big feet coming home from a long day of work, that I completely neglected to take photos.

I am forgetful, so this is not entirely suprising.

I learned about these little gems a few weeks ago when a fellow Dining Diva selected El Salvador for our upcoming dinner gathering theme.  She selected pupusas for the main event and invited us all to get our hands messy by making them with her last weekend.  Last night’s repeat wasn’t quite as successful, making it clear that these babies take practice.  The masa needs to be just right, the filling flawlessly seasoned, and the pan perfectly oiled and heated.

Despite the lack of photographic proof, these pupusas must be documented.  They are delicious.  And not just a little bit, not just because I needed a break from hum drum taco night, not because I was way too hungry to judge properly. 

Served with curtido, a fresh pickled slaw, these are a winner.

I used a recipe from but this is really just the beginning.  Practice is the main ingredient that cannot be substituted.



I have very fond memories of Pizza Night.  Specifically, I remember the local Greek pizza restaurant we frequented when I was a kid. I’m not talking about the renovated, expanded version that moved in when I was in high school. I’m talking about the small, dark, tv on in the corner variety, complete with booths and a counter seating three.

Take out was fun because I, the awkward 10 year old as tall as most 14 year olds, would always get a wink from one of the two brothers who owned the shop. There was Tony and there was Paul…one of them was the front-of-the-house charmer and the other was always slinging pizzas in the kitchen.

Eat-in was fun because the Greek salad would arrive on a huge white platter with a giant slice of salty feta cheese on top. All of you from big families know what it’s like to be staring down a beautiful platter of food and wondering who’s going to get the first (and biggest) serving. Oh man does my mouth water just thinking about sneaking bites of that feta. A shake of oil and red wine vinegar on top was all it needed. Delish.

Today, pizza has a whole new meaning in our family. My honey runs the local pizza shop, started by his dad over 20 years ago.

“Do you ever get tired of pizza?”, you ask.


Heck no!  Thin crust, Sicilian, pan pizza, pizza by the slice, New York style, Greek, Italian – and don’t get me started on toppings – who could get tired of pizza?

Sure, everyone is ready to go home at the end of the workday. But Pizza Night is here to stay.


Last night’s pizza was made from store-bought dough in a seriously-well-seasoned pizza pan from the restaurant, topped with fresh pineapple, crispy turkey bacon, and a blend of cheddar and provolone cheeses.  H’s personally decorated mini cheese pizza was made on a lightly oiled piece of foil.  Both were heavily loaded with cheesy goodness this time.  And we like our pizza extra crispy!

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