procrastination pizza

You first make some polenta. You could buy it in a tube too, but that seems like a lot of bother, when all you gotta do is boil a mug-and-a-half of water, some salt, pour in half-a-mug of corn meal, stir until really thick. When it starts spitting at you with its little polenta mouths (to paraphrase W.O. Mitchell), turn it down.

Then when it's all thick, get out a 12-cup muffin tin. Grease it, don't grease it, really it doesn't matter. Sometimes, the more butter in your life the better--you be the judge. Spoon a spoon of polenta into each cup, about a half-inch layer in each.

As soon as the polenta is off the stove, it will have started to firm up, so maybe you'll have to spread it around a little in each cup to make it flat. And really, flat is the only thing that is going to keep your procrastination toppings on, because the only thing that sticks to polenta is more polenta.

Then do it up. A slice of fresh tomato fits nicely (coughseasonalinsomeplacescough). Pesto is a good sauce if no one is allergic to nuts. Slice mushrooms top to bottom, keeping the round shape. All the cheese you can handle, though that won't stick to the polenta either so may as well put it on top where you can broil it.

Now that I think of it, I wouldn't have been so ambitious if it weren't for the in flight magazine and also the food in the Park Slope bathroom magazine. I actually just would have stirred cheese and tomato into the polenta porridge, and eaten while reading.

Did I say broil it? I meant to say broil the tray full of little corn pizzas, til the cheese melts. You can get them out with spoons or what-have-you.

These are slippery like oysters at times, don't come crying to me if it shoots across the kitchen and you have to pick a cockroach off it, I warned you.