Penne with Pumpkin, Sausage, and Spinach

AGAIN, with the gourds.

Yes, true, but you love it.  You want to eat pumpkin until your face turns orange and you are poisoned by vitamin A.  You want all things squash -- seeds, innards, jack-o-lanterns, carved-out decorative little bird houses -- and I am going to give it to you.  Well, not all things.  Birds ought not be encouraged.

Adult Supervision

Being an aspiring homesteader, I had to spend time this weekend doing some back-breaking from-scratch project, so because I knew you wanted the aforementioned pumpkin, on Sunday I put up pumpkin puree from a couple of obsolete jack-o-lanterns.  Let me tell you, though, it wasn't easy.  Cutting up pumpkins is hard.  As Greg noted while we struggled to carve the most basic design, butchering the thick rind of a slippery, wobbly gourd with a dull chef's knife is a rather interesting children's activity.  Indeed, cutting, roasting, and pureeing endless batches of leftover pumpkin took all my strength, and thus the rest of the homestead was left neglected and covered in seeds and orange pith.  I shan't do it again.  I shan't!

I shall, however, be doing this pasta again, with canned pumpkin puree.  I have a new go-to combination and it is this: sausage+pasta, or, on an even more basic and true level, pig+grain.  This time, with cinnamon and sage, some unnecessary but redeeming spinach, and pillows of grated parmesan, it was a surprising success.

 

  Recipe follows . . .

Antico Pizza Napoletana

There's a generally accepted convention in the restaurant review practice that a critic should visit an establishment at least twice, preferably three times, before passing judgment on it.  To be safe, I visited Antico Pizza Napoletana four times since its recent opening, and my carefully considered verdict is GIMME MORE.

I first read about Antico on Jennifer Zyman's site, where she expressed a similarly enthusiastic sentiment, and gushed that "[i]t tasted just like Italy."  A few days later, a friend's Facebook status announced he'd just eaten the best pizza in Atlanta at Antico.  [Aside:  what did we eat before the www?!]  That night, heavily persuaded, Greg and I shared a take-out Margherita D.O.P., back three weeks ago, in the early days of Antico when it didn't have tables or a single chair.

This pizza -- traditional Naples-style super-thin crust in the middle, thick, soft, chewy edges, charred black in tiny spots, tomato sauce, bufala mozzerella, basil, olive oil --, this pizza is a dream.  In pizza as in everything, there are individual tastes and personal preferences, but as for me, this is it:  the end-all be-all of pizza in this city, the undeniable winner of the Pizza Wars. 

Since that first pie, we've shared a San Gennaro with our good friend Lis, split a spicy Diavaola one night last week when I went for a run and asked Greg to "have pizza waiting when I get back" WHICH HE DID, and, most recently, took five uninitiated friends on Saturday night to a packed house of believers.  

This last time, in addition to having great pizza, we had an incomparable dining experience.  The seven of us ordered three pizzas -- Margherita, Lasagna, and Capricciosa (my favorite so far; see artichokes) --, and immediately one of the pizzaioli scurried to find us a place to light.  Minutes later, we were squeezed around a big farm table in the kitchen, our pizzas sitting atop cans of San Marzano tomatoes, sharing space with other eager patrons with whom we exchanged praise for one another's excellent taste and judgment.  One of the chefs let me take a good look at the three ovens, which were imported from Italy and register close to 1000 degrees. 

The pizzas, as usual, were delicious, and we followed them with a sampling of the desserts and the most incredible espresso.  I felt warm and stimulated and filled with complete and utter satisfaction and contentedness.  If you notice an imagined similarity between this and a drug addict's review of a crack house and its product, you're getting it. 

Antico is little more than a mile from my front door, and despite the effect that may have on my thighs, I'm proud that the Best Pizza in Atlanta comes from the Westside.  When I moved to my house in Underwood Hills back in March, I had little idea I was dropping anchor in such an exciting and dynamic location.  I'm steps from now-favorite eats (Flip, JCT Kitchen, Star Provisions and its related food factories), a short walk away from Marietta Street (the exceedingly exciting Hop City beer shop and Octane Coffee), and, one day, hopefully close by the Beltline and all its promised splendor.  And now, if it ever comes time to sell my little house, the Best Pizza in Atlanta will have sent its value through the roof.