I find myself suddenly a resident of London, where August means crisp 65-degree days and chilly nights instead of sticky, sandy, lingering afternoons on the Jersey shore. Because my lizard brain will forever associate a snap in the air with snappy new back-to-school clothes and the optimistic ambition of new beginnings, I've had an unusually industrious end to the summer. It's a good thing, because I'm having to relearn everything from how to tell time and temperature to what to call zucchini and eggplant at the farmers' market.
It's not exactly a hardship. Far from it. But while I'd like to think of myself as all about the shiny new adventures and total cultural immersion, I've noticed a funny countervailing trend in the dinners I've been cooking in our new kitchen. There's been a ton of pizza, two tons of pasta, and a volume of vegetables that would certainly have broken my kitchen scale if my kitchen scale had arrived yet. Ah, well. You can take the girl out of Jersey. It's a good thing a Jersey shore kitchen in August is a fine, fine place to be.
This pizza clearly originated in the mind of a Jersey girl. But now I can vouch for the fact that it tastes just as good no matter where you are—and no matter what you call a zucchini. Like many pizzas, it's a flexible recipe. Just make sure you slice the zucchini as thin as possible so it will be tender by the time the pizza is done.