Pizza Farm

A couple of years ago, my friend Jess told me about the Pizza Farm. At first, I was not sure what to think of such a place. Was it a farm house made entirely of pizza boxes? Could farmers actually grow pizzas from the soil? Despite growing up in a tiny farming community in the middle of North Dakota, even this was something I had never heard of. What, pray tell, was a Pizza Farm? Jess explained. The Pizza Farm is a real farm tucked back in the fields of Wisconsin where, every Tuesday night in the summer months, they bake lovely pizzas made fresh from ingredients they produce themselves. It was local food done with great care and attention. Once I understood what this mythical place really was, I knew I had to check it out. Unfortunately, on most Tuesdays I am at work. This makes a mid-day trek to rural Wisconsin somewhat challenging. Enter, my summer Stay-cation and a whole week of leisurely time just perfect for a pizza adventure.

Jess and I made our plans and hopped in the car on a tragically hot and steamy August day. We set out to find this gem of pizza nirvana. A couple hours later, a few pit stops to take in the local scenery and we were there. Eureka! We found it.








The farm is just a few miles outside of Stockholm, WI. You will find no signs directing you to the location. They don't advertise. They don't have to. Our arrival at 5pm was fortuitous as several hungry visitors preceded us and had descended like a swarm of locusts. As we got in line to order, several more ravenous guests were flanking us to the right and left. This place was certainly popular. Jess and I arrived just in time and were able to place our order quickly after spending a few minutes studying the chalkboard menu. The pizza options reflect the bounty of the land -- onion, herbs, eggplant, beets, fresh tomato. They have sausage made from "happy pigs" and cheese made the milk of cows and sheep residing in the pasture just a few clicks away. Add in a few delights like kalamata olives and you have yourself one delicious pizza.






It only took about 10 minutes for us to get our pie. They have 2 big wood burning ovens going and, apparently, dish out about one pizza each minute. Don't expect any fancy sides or accompaniments. It's just pizza. They don't even sell beverages and they don't have plates or napkins. Everything is bring your own and you take your trash with you when you leave. There are some nice open spots of grass where you can throw down a blanket, catch some shade and enjoy your food.

I would highly recommend making a Tuesday trip to the Pizza Farm. Bring a little salt and pepper with you (pizzas could have used a little seasoning), grab a 6 pack of beer or a bottle of wine and take in this sustainable and satisfying culinary find. Oh, and if the pizza alone doesn't hit the spot, there is a great little pie shop in Stockholm where you can pick up some yummy baked goodness.

In my next life, I want to live on a Pizza Farm and grow a Pizza Garden and maybe, just maybe, I'll have a Calzone Community of my very own.

Staycation Part Deux

The Staycation continues and what a glorious week it has been! In addition to hitting the gym and working on my fitness, I engaged in activities of leisure such as a blissful manicure and pedicure combo, happy hour at the Happy Gnome, shopping and lunch with friends. Ahhhhh . . . the good life.

When one has such a week of luxurious, carefree time on their hands, it is important to take advantage and attend to some medical and dental check-ups. Perfect health and wellness being right next to Godliness on the "Top 10 Aspirational Goals List" of 2008, I had to oblige and do my part. If you are wondering what #3 is, well, let's just say it might involve plastic surgery and a whole lot of suction . . . not going there right now. I'll leave that for my next Staycation.

In my quest for the holy grail of health, I took my first ever trip to the dermatologist. While I have never had the need or seen a reason to go to a skin specialist before, I was startled out of complacency by stories from friends and friends of friends. A fair-skinned lass with a sad history of blistering sunburns and biological predisposition to moles and freckles sealed the deal. When I made the appointment, I wasn't sure what to ask for? Should I request a check-up? A skin review? An ala carte special peel and graft? I just didn't have the lingo down at all. A colleague suggested I schedule a full body scan which, simply put, is a head to toe look at my epidermis. No stone was left unturned. After a thorough exam, I came to realize that I had a lot more going on in the skin department than I could have ever dreamed possible. What's that you say Dr. Cho? I have a touch of psoriasis on my scalp? Hmmm. I just thought it was a dry patch of skin. Guess not. Seasonal eczema on my hands? Check. Dermatitis with a "touch" of Rosacea on my face? Yep. Got it. Anything else? Well, just for fun let's throw in a couple suspicious looking moles that had to be removed. Good gravy and biscuits people. I'm a walking dermatological case study. Luckily the good doctor didn't diagnose Leprosy. This would have put me over the edge. No severely disfiguring and painful disease from biblical times, thankyouverymuch.

OK, so the whole mole removal thing was pretty easy. If others out there have experienced it, they can attest to this fact. A little shot of local anaesthetic and I didn't feel a thing. There was one slightly disturbing part -- the moment when my tiny wound was cauterized and the pungent smell of my own burning flesh hit my nostrils. Not good. Even worse was the thought, later provided by my darling sister . . . "just think, that was what you would smell if you were ever burned alive!" Great. Thanks!!

After my procedure, I had this compulsion to do a Google search on 'mole removal.' See I'm a bit of a hypochondriac and am always looking for the symptoms, signs and cautionary tales related to diseases and conditions which may or may not befall me. In my quick Internet query, I found a few interesting sites. One of which boasted this picture:

Ahhhhhhh!!!!! I meant mole on my skin, not mole in my garden. This was incredibly frightening. For a mere instant, I was worried my harmless skin moles may erupt and burst with sharp teethed, pointy nosed vermin like this. My anxiety released upon realizing Google was just confused. Whew. Relief. Then I pictured the movie Caddyshack. A golf course groundskeeper, played by a young Bill Murray, dueling it out with a wily gopher. In my mind, the gopher was transformed into his burrowing cousin, the mole. The mole became the small, dark dots on my skin and Dr. Cho was Bill Murray trying to eradicate them from reproducing and spreading their vermin seed across my torso, neck, arms and legs. AAAHHHHHHHHHHH.

The whole skin slicing, flesh burning, Internet searching, mole imagining, Caddyshack remembering was super trippy. Must have been a lethal combination of anaesthetic and Starbucks mocha in my system. Careful not to mix these boys and girls. It leads to bad, bad visuals.

My STAYcation

I will preface my post by saying that I am somebody who finds myself annoyed by people claiming to be super busy all the time. Everyone is tragically busy. I get it. It bugs! Here is just an example of what I'm talking about:

"Hey Sally (p.s. I don't really know a Sally), long time no see. How are you doing?"

Sally's response punctuated with eye rolling and deep sighs of exasperation, "Oh well, I just can't keep up. You know? Things are just CRAZY at work and with the kids and keeping the house clean and the laundry and then Fido needs to get his teeth cleaned and his coat groomed and then there's that family reunion and you know my aunt is going to make me plan the whole thing. I am just SO BUSY!"

My response -- notably with less enthusiasm and glee -- "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We should really get together sometime and catch up. I miss hanging out with you."

"That would be great. But, I just really have no idea when I could schedule something. There is just too much going on. How about we block some time in 2009 and play it by ear?"

"Sure. Sounds fantastic. I'll give you a call sometime after the New Year." Yeah right.

Yeah, yeah. We are all busy, right? I mean, isn't all relative to your particular point of reference? But, seriously folks. We all need to lay off the verbal diarrhea about our insanely busy lives. Enough is enough. I've had it. I say this with total love and compassion for those bogged down professionals and the over-stressed moms out there, cuz lord knows I don't know how you all do it. And, I'm not offering up this up as smug criticism or somehow trying to compete and say that no one can possibly be as busy as me. Not the case and not true. What I am offering is a social commentary around "busy" as a topic of casual conversation. People, this subject is officially played out. It's SO 1990's. I firmly believe "being busy" is today's catch all discussion starter (and ender) on par with "how's the weather?" It has lost all meaning and distinction given the fact that 9 out of 10 people are too damn busy give a damn.

OK, that was the preamble. Now on to the full amble:

I've decided to stop with all the busy-ness. No more running 100 miles an hour, spinning my wheels just to take two steps forward and then three steps back. The rat race has got me down my friends. Yes, I'm writing in ambiguous metaphors, but this seems very appropriate as my life lately could be viewed as a metaphor of the non-stop, go, go, go times we all live in. Today, I have decided to call a cease fire on the battlefield if only for a brief moment. I'm hitting the 'pause' button on the fast forward button of life and changing the frequency from commercial free, heart thumping, adrenaline rushing thrash rock to a calmer, more soothing station -- this week, I'm tuning into the easy listening and acoustic channels. Yep, still using the metaphors . . .

OK, all vague references aside, I needed some down time. Luckily about 2 months ago I blocked a week on my work calendar as I had the forethought to realize I might need to recharge and reconnect. I am taking, what the popular media has coined, a Staycation. A Staycation is a form of vacation, but instead of vacating for warmer climes or new adventures, one stays put. I am going nowhere fast and I am really enjoying myself. After only one full day of my first ever Staycation, I've made it to the gym, paid all my bills, made a dental appointment, did some grocery shopping, lounged about and did some pleasure reading and prepared a delicious homecooked meal which included . . . drumroll . . . fresh baked bread! Watch out Martha Stewart. I'm comin to getchya. I'm not exactly sure what tomorrow has in store for me which is precisely the point. Sure, I have some loose plans like maybe a manicure and pedicure, but no real deadlines or pressing concerns.

I could get used to this.