This Will Be The Best One Yet
On the eve of New Year’s Eve a pizza peel arrived on the front porch of my sister, Jamie’s, cabin. She and I watched as my brother-in-law, Ted, ripped open the box, assessing the size and whether or not it was big enough for the pizzas we were going to toss onto his brand new Big Green Egg. The day prior, Jamie and I went to our favorite spot in Traverse City, Folgarelli’s, in search of all of the items we needed. Neapolitan pizza dough, imported sauce, bottles of wine, and an impromptu cash-register cookie purchase.
Leading up to our big pizza event, Ted researched how the stone was going to lay onto the Egg, Jamie and I crafted our perfect topping combinations, and at random points throughout the day we would exclaim our enthusiasm around how we couldn’t believe we found not just good pizza dough, but neapolitan pizza dough. All the odds were in our favor.
Ted fired up the Egg: Six hundred degrees. I opened the wine. Jamie tossed the dough and we vowed that by our next pizza party we’d be able to professionally toss it in the air. My nieces fluttered between coloring, watching Frozen 2 for the 58th time, and dragging out puzzles when they got bored of both.
We had five pizzas, five opportunities, to make our dreams come true. First one: sauce, sausage, a smattering of peppers. Flour the peel. Get the camera ready! Watch the inaugural slip of the pizza onto the stone, the immediate sear of the dough on a surface that was hotter than Hell. Get the camera ready again! Watch it come off. Slice. Eat. Rave. Try again. This is how it went for all five, each one a little better than the last. Each one a chance to make improvements. Don’t put the pizza on the peel too soon or it’ll absorb the flour and won’t slide off easily. Don’t be too gingerly as you put the pizza on the stone or it’ll jostle the ingredients! More sauce. More cheese, obviously. What if we did pesto? Do we still have tomatoes? Slice, chop, add. We developed a rhythm. Ted gave us a two minute warning. Jamie tossed the next dough. I added the toppings. Onto the stone. And then we’d eat the latest pizza fresh off the Egg in between. Wine, chatter, music, excitement. Can you believe how good this is?! And, ohmygosh next time we need to make our own sauce. And, Ted how much time is left?!
It came time for our fifth pizza. It would be our best one yet. We knew it. I wanted to capture a video of Ted’s superior skills, so we had a pep talk before opening the lid. “OK, just go FAST, Ted! I’m gonna press play. You open the lid. And BOOM. Slip that puppy on the stone.”
“I got it, I got it, I got it,” he said.
I pressed play. He opened the lid. The look on his face showed one of pure confidence, a celebration before the act even took place. He hovered the peel over the stone, slipped the peel away with the speed and precision of a true professional, and I watched in horror as the dough stuck to the peel and half the ingredients toppled onto the stone. The video captured our hysterics. The laughter, a new game plan, the fumbling of the phone as I rushed over to help him scoop the dough off the peel and plop it onto the stone, humpty dumpty-ing our fifth and final pizza back together again. He closed the lid. We looked at each other. “Another drink?” he said.
It was so simple. It was so easy. It was so fun. It will cement itself as one of my favorite memories because we were present and engaged and so happy to just be in the moment creating something together. That’s what I define as hygge: the Danish concept of wellbeing, togetherness, and coziness. A word that doesn’t have a one-word English translation, so instead translates as a feeling. Being with my family, cooking, celebrating the moment for its simplicity, forgetting our phones even exist (except to video the pizza!), listening to some groovy tunes, opening a second bottle of wine. For me, it’s the feeling of connection. It’s joy found in the simplest of pleasures. It’s comfort. And it’s why I’ve been obsessed with this word for the past six years, something I first read about in a Bon Appetit magazine and immediately clicked with. Oh. There’s a word for this?! This is what I’m constantly seeking out in life!
A few years after that discovery, I planned A Very Hygge Weekend, a food, wine, and fitness retreat snuggled into the countryside of southeast Michigan. My girlfriend, Carri, and I hosted the retreat at our friend Clare’s cabin. We hiked the sand dunes, went wine tasting, cozied up to the bonfire in the morning with our coffee and at night with our wine and s’mores. We practiced yoga, had meaningful conversation, laid in hammocks, ate farm-to-table meals, and pressed pause on the noise of life. We connected. And that weekend also cemented itself as a favorite memory. One that brought me closer to nature, closer to my fellow humans, closer to the innate joy that’s always residing within me.
I’m inviting you to experience this with me again. Instead of a cabin together, we will be nestled in our respective homes and connecting for A Very Hygge (Virtual) Retreat at the end of February. COVID has limited my ability to look forward. I no longer have trips to plan or even a special dinner out on Saturday night. Much of my past 10 months have been a grind to commit to simple pleasures, to find joy in the moment I’m in, whether it’s through movement or music or making art or speaking with a friend on FaceTime. I want to package up these simple joys and pleasures and deliver them to your screen, to your doorstep. Carri and I will be hosting this weekend filled with movement, journaling, reflection, full moon celebration, self-discovery, and cozy conversation. As part of this experience, you will receive a box of specially-curated items tailored to our exploration, including a copy of the book Wintering, by Katherine May. Please consider joining us. We would love to have you.
Until then, you can enjoy the pizza flop that still makes me laugh as heartily now as it did in the video. Cheers.
