Pressure cooked, halved, grilled, then stuffed with cream cheese, prosciutto, onions, sweet red peppers and panko, then finished in the broiler
Violent thunderstorms would often strike Freeport, GBI. I was four years old, but I can feel them like it was yesterday. Several times a day, mothers would holler, wet kids running in every direction, rain funneling off the palm fronds and slapping the pavers, anger cracking through the sky. Thunderstorms meant one thing: time to wash my spare change. I lined up the Bahamian pennies around the perimeter of our screened-in porch, starfish side up, watching the rainwater course over them. Years later I would learn that a change-washing machine is one of the famous old quirks of the Westin St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. Two places that have clean change: The St. Francis and my parents’ porch in Freeport in 1980.
These storms never lasted long. In just a few minutes, maybe a rainbow or two, then blue skies, sunshine, and kids, everywhere kids. Ashish and Vinay, who gave me something so spicy to eat that their mom had to spoon-feed me yogurt until I stopped freaking out. And Nick, my babysitter. We would launch model rockets. Once, we lost one deep inside a field of poison oak. The kid uniform in Freeport was one article of clothing: swim trunks. Nick was maybe 16, so the dress code applied to him too. “I’m not allergic,” he said, lofting me onto his shoulders and marching into the thicket. From my elevated view, I spotted the downed rocket first. Or maybe Nick knew it was there all along, but let me be the one to find it because that’s something Nick would do.
Shortly after George Gascón turned my bicycle accident into the Crime of the Century™, he was run out of San Francisco by BLM activists and Colin Kaepernick for not prosecuting any police murders, including that of Mario Woods, who was executed by what Gascón proudly referred to as “a firing squad.”
Now Gascón is being run out of Los Angeles by victims’ rights activists for being too soft on crime.
My feelings on this are complicated, at best.
This time instead of putting the cheese in the dough, I dropped a handful on top with five minutes left in the baking cycle. Cheese in the dough melts into oils that enrich the flavor of the bread, but those oils also make the crumb heavier and more dense. With this method, I still get to appreciate the cheese, too! A medley of house-pickled jalapeños and red, orange, and yellow peppers dot the inside.