Leftover Salmon. Or: WHY KRISTIN AND GABE ARE LAME!

That's right. This is a public shaming. We want to know what our distant friends are eating, and you're not telling. If this keeps up, I'm going to make new friends and blog with them instead. So there.

But in other news, I've been getting my omega-3s and promoting Montana's School Nutrition Programs-all in the same pizza. Although the salmon-pizza combination elicited some wrinkled noses when I brought it to work for lunch, it stirs up great, fecund Alaskan memories in my soul. Your loss if you agree with my coworkers.

But if you're feeling adventurous, here's how to play along.

1) Make a fillet lip smacking baked salmon with lemon and capers. Don't eat it all.

2)Through some dough ingredients together and let them rise in the window through which the 6 o'clock sun is streaming. If you're trying to authentically replicate my trip down memory lane (and what a metaphysical task that would be!), you should include yeast, warm water, olive oil, salt, and a mix of white and Kamut flour. Don't you dare measure.

3) Rummage around in your refrigerator for whatever seems pizza worthy. In my case, this was some sauteed onions and chard, the aforementioned salmon, a jar of sauce that I made from pilfered tomatoes last fall, and the sample "cheese" that the school lunch ladies wanted us to taste test.

4) Bake that shit. Eat it.

Due to my Daylight Savings-induced euphoria and the awful lack of south facing windows in our Birdhouse, this pizza was a free range one for about 5 minutes when I took it into the back yard for photographing.


Note the way that the cheese started burning before it ever got close to melting. Give us back our fat, USDA!

And incidentally, the primary title of this post refers to a band from Colorado who claim to have a distinct "polyethnic cajun slamgrass" sound. It's another sentimental Alaskan memory, if you'll indulge me.