Chicken and Pepperoni Pizza

Kevin called at 3 AM on January 8th. "She's here." Brianna Mitchell. Seven pounds, eleven ounces. Born at Blanchfield Army Community Hospital in Fort Campbell. Kevin's voice on the phone: wrecked and joyful and the kind of tired that only new fathers have, the tired that is also the most awake you've ever been. "She's here," he said, and I sat up in bed in the dark apartment and I said: "Is she perfect?" He said: "She's perfect." She's perfect. The answer that every parent gives because every baby IS perfect, even at 3 AM, even on a military base, even to a man who is forty-five years old and already has a four-year-old and is going to be VERY tired for the next three years.

Donna is fine. Tired, sore, fine. Kevin sent photos: Brianna in Donna's arms, Brianna in Kevin's massive hands (the man has hands like a construction worker because he IS a construction worker in his off-duty time and the contrast of those hands holding a seven-pound baby is the tenderest thing I've ever seen from my brother). Kaden meeting Brianna: he looked at her and said: "She's small." She's small. Four-year-old observation. Accurate. Not interested. He went back to his trucks. The sibling bond will develop. It always does. It just takes time and shared toys and someone stealing your juice box.

I drove to Clarksville on Saturday. Two hours. Left Mona in charge of the restaurant (the first time — the FIRST TIME Mona ran Sarah's Table alone, and the trust was: nauseating, the trust was me driving on I-24 checking my phone every twelve minutes for a disaster text that never came because Mona is competent and the restaurant is fine and the fine is the proof that the trust was right). I brought: a casserole (chicken and rice, the new-baby casserole, the meal that every Southern woman brings when a baby arrives because the new parents can't cook and the casserole is the village and the village shows up with Pyrex). I also brought Earline's recipe for buttermilk biscuits, written on an index card, tucked into the casserole dish. Because Donna is family now. Because Kevin chose her and Kevin is good at choosing (the second time, the Crystal situation was a learning experience, and learning experiences are just failures that teach you to do better next time).

I held Brianna. In Kevin's living room in Clarksville, in the house that the Army helped him buy, in the living room where Kaden's trucks cover the floor like a minefield. I held my niece and she weighed nothing and she smelled like baby and she had Kevin's chin and Donna's nose and the Mitchell stubbornness in her fists (she was gripping my finger with the force of a woman who intends to survive, and the surviving is the Mitchell way, and the way starts at birth). I looked at Kevin. He was watching me hold his daughter. He said: "You held me like that. When I was born. Mom told me." I held Kevin when he was born. I was two years old and I held my baby brother and now my baby brother has a baby and the holding is: the line. The line from Earline to Lorraine to me to Kevin to Brianna. The line holds. The line always holds.

I made the casserole before I left Nashville: chicken, rice, cream of mushroom soup (yes, the canned kind — new-baby casseroles are not the time for homemade cream sauce, new-baby casseroles are the time for efficiency and Pyrex and love in a 9x13 pan). Broccoli on top because Kevin won't eat a casserole without a vegetable and the broccoli is the vegetable and the vegetable is the compromise between "this is comfort food" and "you need to eat something green." Kevin ate two plates. Donna ate a plate in bed. Kaden ate the broccoli and left the chicken. Babies: they change your life but they don't change a four-year-old's food preferences.

The casserole was for Kevin and Donna — that belonged to Clarksville and Pyrex and Earline’s index card and Brianna’s first week of life. But when I got back to Nashville, two hours down I-24 with my hands still smelling like baby, I opened Sarah’s Table the next morning and fed my own people the way I know how: loud, generous, and covered in cheese. This Chicken and Pepperoni Pizza is what I make when the week has cracked me open and put me back together — it is fast enough for a Tuesday and good enough to mean something, and right now, everything means something.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 22 minutes | Total Time: 37 minutes | Servings: 4–6

Ingredients

1 lb store-bought or homemade pizza dough, at room temperature
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced
3/4 cup pizza sauce or marinara
1 1/2 cups shredded low-moisture mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup shredded provolone or additional mozzarella
1 1/2 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded or diced (rotisserie works perfectly)
3 oz pepperoni slices (about 30 slices)
1/2 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
Fresh basil leaves, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set oven to 475°F (245°C). If you have a pizza stone, place it in the oven now to heat. Otherwise, lightly oil a large rimmed baking sheet or 12-inch round pizza pan.
Prepare the dough. On a lightly floured surface, stretch or roll the dough into a 12-inch round (or a rough rectangle for a sheet pan). Transfer to the prepared pan. Brush the surface with 1 tablespoon of olive oil, reaching to the edges.
Make the garlic base. In a small bowl, stir the minced garlic into the pizza sauce. Spread the sauce evenly over the dough, leaving a 3/4-inch border for the crust.
Add the cheese. Scatter the mozzarella and provolone evenly over the sauce.
Layer the toppings. Distribute the cooked chicken pieces evenly over the cheese. Arrange the pepperoni slices on top. Sprinkle with Italian seasoning and red pepper flakes if using. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil over the pizza.
Bake. Bake for 18–22 minutes, until the crust is golden and the cheese is bubbling and beginning to brown in spots. Rotate the pan halfway through for even browning.
Rest and serve. Remove from oven and let rest for 3–4 minutes before slicing. Scatter fresh basil over the top if desired. Slice into 8 pieces and serve hot.

Nutrition (per serving, based on 6 servings)

Chicken and Pepperoni Pizza — The Village Shows Up However It Can