Half-Bum Dinner: Mini Pizza

As a child, part of our moral code was (and still is) keeping a clean mouth. Not the brush-and-floss kind of clean, but the profanity kind of clean. I grew up in my beloved LDS faith and part of our strict, but nurturing, moral code was avoiding swear words.

I have several childhood memories associated with profanity:

1) I heard my Mom swear once when I was about 13. It was the only time I've ever heard her swear in my life. I went to my room and cried. I was pretty sure at that moment that my Mom was going to Heck (she's not).

2) Once I was really mad at my younger brother. I think I was around 12 and we were fighting over which movie to watch. He probably wanted to watch Lost in the Barrens and I probably wanted to watch Split Infinity or something. Most of our movies were from Feature Films for Families. Anyway, at some point in our battle over the VCR, I realized I had just lost the fight and in a fit of rage, I thew my video down and screamed, "FINE! WATCH YOUR D*** MOVIE!" I don't remember getting into a ton of trouble for that one, even though Mom was sitting right there. I did feel extremely guilty, though.

3) Not only were we not allowed to cuss, but the following words (among others) were banned in our house: Dang, gosh, gosh dang, freak, flip, shut up, screw, crap, butt, and suck. We were also not allowed to say "Oh my stars," or "Oh my heavens!"

4) After the video incident, I did not say a swear word again for about 12 years. Not even to QUOTE anyone. No lie.

5) When I was a young single adult (not really a childhood memory, but it happened before my non-swearing streak was broken, so I'm counting it), I worked for one of my uncles, who was a manager at a scrapbook company in Salt Lake. I also lived with the same uncle and aunt. I basically worshiped the ground they walked on (and still do).
   One day during the workday I innocently went to my uncle's office to ask a question. As soon as I showed up in the open doorway, I heard him let the H-word fly to a co-worker. SHOCKING. He looked up and saw me. We both turned beet red and I ducked my head and ran away down the hall like a bat out of the unmentionable place he had just mentioned. I was shocked to hear an expletive fly from his lips, since I had been rebuked by him when I was 8 or 9 for saying the P-word. I relived the awkward moment several times in my head afterward. I wondered if his wife knew and vowed NEVER to speak of it, until my uncle brought it up in conversation with my aunt one day.

6) As a child, I was allowed to say a short list of faux swear words: shoot, cotton pickin', heck, and darn

7) I heard my Dad swear once when I was about 14. It was *almost* the only time I've ever heard him swear in my life. I went to my room and cried. I was pretty sure at that moment that my Dad was going to Heck (he's not).

Nowadays, I have some repenting to do, but I do have some strict profanity rules that I abide by before I let one fly. My rules are: Basically all swear words are banned. I allow myself to say the h-word only in the sole company of my husband, and as long as it is referring to the place, not the idea. The h-word is only to be employed on the rarest of occasions. Or when I'm quoting someone. I also have said the B-word once when I was super mad, but I made sure to pronounce the "i" as ee-yaw, Mean Girls style... I'm sure that made it so much better.

Anyway. That long tangent is my way of explaining why I'm not using the straight-up swear word in the title of my post. I just couldn't get around it. Half-bum is my style of cooking. Just ask my husband. I spent the first year of our marriage trying to deliver him the gourmet meals he was used to from his parents, but then I sort of gave up. Why spend 2 hours on something that is going to be eaten in about 10 minutes? I try to step things up a little bit when he's home, but for the most part, JC and I eat lots of breakfast foods, PB&J's, casseroles, and leftovers.

I do not claim to be any sort of good cook, food blogger, or food photographer (this will become obvious when you look at the photos). Most of the time, the stuff I turn out looks like the devil's vomit but I just roll with it and somehow I've managed to keep myself and my son alive. Miraculous, considering I've never fed my child a meal separated into an ice cube tray, a hot dog shaped like an octopus,  homemade fruit leather, apples that look like teeth, or any number of Barefoot Contessa recipes that require you to hike the Andes for fresh Chilean goat milk and then make your own cheese out of it, or whatever. I have better things to do, like recount my childhood malediction stories to the internet.
So here's the recipe. Simple:

You start with frozen dinner rolls. Thaw according to the package directions, then flatten them with a rolling pin (or your fingers; we're half-bumming this). Then bake the flattened rolls at 350 degrees for 10 minutes.

Grab a can of plain ole tomato sauce out of your pantry. Spread a spoonful on your half-baked pizza dough.

Sprinkle some Italian seasoning on it, for flavor. Don't be like the lunch ladies at my high school. A little basil won't kill you.

Then add some shredded Mozzarella.

 Also something I half-bum do: Scrubbing my pans.

Put your toppings on. I used chopped mushrooms, green peppers, red onion, olives, and pepperoni.
If I'd had any alfredo sauce, I would've used that in place of the tomato sauce and put some chicken on instead of the pepperoni. But I didn't have any, so I didn't do that. But you totally could if you wanted.

Bake them for 10 or 15 more minutes. Don't worry if some of the toppings slide off. Just scoop them back on with a spatula, like I did. Your stomach will never know.

Here's my "final product" which apparently you're supposed to show when you do a cooking blog post. You're also supposed to photograph them with a real camera rather than your iPhone, on a white plate, in natural light. My philosophy: Stop worrying so much about "supposed to," except for the important stuff of course.

Note: The side dish that looks like something a cat puked up 3 weeks ago is actually a pretty good and pretty healthy Greek quinoa salad, which you can find the recipe for here. I know it's not the same ethnic cuisine as pizza, but I had leftovers and I wanted some. Sue me.