Ideally. What actually turned out was this:
They were still delicious, though! This was a joint project that I foisted on G after he suggested ordering delivery. And he calls himself the half of the couple who can cook. For shame. We used tomatoes on the vine, half a block of fresh Parmesan that I sliced into the thinnest, best slices ever seen**, olive oil, dried basil, sea salt and possibly oregano. As soon as we saw them come out of the oven, we knew we had skimped on the cheese. More cheese was most certainly called for. The tomatoes themselves also could have been cooked "a little bit hotter for a little bit longer," according to G. "But then you run the risk of scorching the cheese, and you never want to scorch the cheese." They were, let's say, juicy. Messy. Hard to eat the way I like, with lots of small bites. I was throwing half a tomato in my mouth at once by the last one.
Prep. I made a pyramid with the largest halves on the bottom. This isn't a democracy, it's a tomatocracy:
|I enjoy arranging things.|
We also ended up making Caesar salad due to my crippling dietary restriction of only eating salads that have Caesar dressing on them and sautéed steak of an unknown-to-me cut. He did that part. Beer (him) and kosher wine (us) topped it off. Yes, I said kosher wine, and I do not mean Manischewitz. Bartenura. Try it, it's cheap, delicious, bubbly and sweet. I say this as a prosciutto-eater. And a wine-hater.
|I'm holding steak, a tomato, and several heavenly beams of light.|
I stopped by an art shop today, so do not think this is the end.
*This title made a lot more sense when it was the second post over on Tumblr.
**My anticipation led to the sentence "Can I cut the cheese now?" being uttered, followed by immature giggling.