One year. Fifty-two weeks of this life documented, and what do I have to show for it? A son who says fifty words and runs like the wind. A wife who is pregnant and complicated and still, when the light catches her face a certain way, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. A job that pays the bills and breaks my body and connects me to my father and his father and a legacy of labor that is both a burden and a gift. A knee that aches. A heart that works. A family that gathers every Sunday around a table that has never been empty.
This week was ordinary. That is the point. Most weeks are ordinary. Most of life is ordinary. The extraordinary moments — Aiden's first steps, the pregnancy announcement, the midnight kiss on New Year's Eve — are highlights in a film that is mostly composed of commutes and grocery runs and bedtime routines. The film is still worth watching. The routine is still worth living. But you have to learn to find meaning in the ordinary, or the ordinary will swallow you.
I am twenty-seven years old. By this time next year, I will be twenty-eight with two children and a marriage that will either be stronger or weaker, and I do not know which yet. I am working on it. Working is the thing I know how to do. I work on the line. I work on my marriage. I work on being a father. I work on being a man who is more than the worst thing that ever happened to him. The knee was not the end. It was the beginning of a different story, and I am still in the early chapters.
Sunday dinner was Mama's baked mac and cheese. Not because it was special, but because it was Sunday, and on Sundays, Cheryl Carter cooks, and whatever she makes is what we eat, and what she makes is always exactly what we need. The mac and cheese was four cheeses and golden on top and creamy in the middle and it tasted like childhood and safety and the unwavering, impossible love of a woman who has been feeding people since before I existed and will feed people until her hands give out.
Aiden sat in his high chair and ate mac and cheese with his fingers because he has rejected the spoon as a tool of the establishment. Brianna sat next to me and rested her head on my shoulder for a moment — just a moment, brief as a breath — and I felt the weight of her head and the weight of the year and the weight of the future and I thought: we are here. We are still here. And wherever we go next, we go together, because that is what Carters do. We stay. We eat. We endure. We love. And the mac and cheese is always good.
Mama’s baked mac and cheese was four cheeses — and that number has been sitting with me all week, because there is something about layering cheeses together that mirrors what Sunday dinners actually are: no single thing doing all the work, but everything melting into something greater than its parts. When I wanted to carry that same feeling into our own kitchen — to give Brianna and Aiden a taste of that golden, creamy, pull-it-apart comfort on a night when we needed it most — a Quattro Formaggi Pizza felt like the right answer. Four cheeses, one table, and the same truth Mama has been teaching us our whole lives: feed the people you love, and you’ve already done something that matters.
Quattro Formaggi Pizza
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 pound pizza dough, store-bought or homemade, at room temperature
- 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 1/2 cup whole-milk ricotta cheese
- 3/4 cup shredded low-moisture mozzarella cheese
- 1/2 cup shredded fontina cheese
- 1/3 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves, or 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- Cornmeal or flour for dusting
Instructions
- Preheat oven. Place a pizza stone or inverted baking sheet on the center rack and preheat your oven to 500°F (260°C) for at least 30 minutes. A hot surface is the key to a crisp, golden crust.
- Stretch the dough. On a lightly floured surface, stretch or roll the pizza dough into a 12-inch round. Transfer it to a piece of parchment paper dusted with cornmeal. Let it rest for 5 minutes while you prepare the toppings.
- Brush with oil. Drizzle or brush 1 tablespoon of olive oil evenly over the surface of the dough, leaving a 3/4-inch border for the crust.
- Layer the cheeses. Dollop the ricotta evenly across the pizza in small spoonfuls. Scatter the mozzarella over the top, followed by the fontina, and finish with the grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. The cheeses should cover the surface in an uneven, rustic layer — that variation is what creates the golden pockets on top.
- Season and finish. Sprinkle black pepper, red pepper flakes (if using), and thyme leaves over the cheese. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil over the top.
- Bake. Slide the parchment with the pizza onto the preheated stone or baking sheet. Bake for 12–15 minutes, until the crust is deep golden brown at the edges and the cheese is bubbling and caramelized in spots on top.
- Rest and slice. Remove the pizza from the oven and let it rest for 2 minutes before slicing. This helps the cheese set just enough to hold its pull. Cut into 8 slices and serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 480 | Protein: 21g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 51g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 740mg
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 52 of DeShawn’s 30-year story
· Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.