Pizza Night at Hawkins Farm: Chef Rio is a pizza mastermind…

Anyone who’s read any of my blog or done even a cursory stumble around my Instagram can probably suss out: I’m a big fan of pizza. Genuinely, there’s no amount of money I wouldn’t spend, no distance I wouldn’t travel, no obstacle I wouldn’t overcome for the sake of pizza. (It’s easy to say when you’re broke and are currently stuffed from having housed several slices of delectable pizza–no one is going to ask me to put my money where my mouth is–but I assure you, if I have the means to make it happen, nothing would ever stand between me and a pizza that I want.) I genuinely believe that there are different pizzas that we need for various reasons at myriad moments of our lives. The world’s best pizza? That’s for your brain, your tastebuds, and your tummy. That’s an experience. Trash pizza? Maybe you’re just trying to feed your soul. I very recently drove over three hours to try, what I was led to believe, would be authentic Sicilian pizza. It was not. In fact, it was pretty not great. But, with where my head was at, I really needed that adventure. I really needed that (shitty) pizza at that exact moment. And though I couldn’t have known it at the time, that super-sad pizza cleansed my heart and prepared me for a deeper appreciation of the life-changing pizza to come. May pizza save my mortal soul. I wouldn’t change the experience for anything–though, if I had my druthers, the not-actually-Sicilian pizza would have been better. But pizza be like that sometimes. There are few things that I take as seriously as I do pizza. One of those few things: my mental health. Another? That’s easy: friendship. This is why I found myself at Hawkins Family Farm for pizza night this past Friday. 

A forty-plus minute drive outside of Fort Wayne sits Hawkins Family Farm: a gorgeous property with acres of fields, moo-cows–yes, I’m a child–flower gardens, fruit trees, and (wouldn’t ya know it) a brick, woodfired pizza oven. I don’t consider myself to be particularly outdoorsy. The more that I’m faced with the reality of it, ending up in the Midwest was maybe a left-of-center life choice for me. But even I, who burns so easily in the sun and gets itchy just thinking about bugs, am charmed by the concept of pizza night on the farm. It’s an amazing community experience: to delight in hand-crafted pizza with farm fresh toppings sourced literally where you’re standing and then to relax and enjoy your meal in a quaint, pastoral setting. You’d have to be pretty heartless to not be charmed by pizza night at Hawkins Farm. However, this particular pizza night was extra special: the farm hosted Chef Rio as their special guest chef. 

For those not in the know (and shame on you if you’re not) Chef Rio is the brains behind Shop Two Sixty and Brew Two Sixty. Yes: this is the same Chef Rio I’ve written about before. Their bagels make me want to be a better person, their Runex260x2Toms pop-up still gets me hot and bothered just thinking about it, and beyond their culinary talents they genuinely are one of the kindest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. (Killer smile. Excellent hugger.) So, like I said: there’s no obstacle that would ever stand between me and pizza. But, if Rio is making the pizza–sheeeeeeeesh. I’m going to get it. Bet. 

I put on sunblock, maneuvered my life so that I’d have access to a car (the literal most difficult part of this mission), packed up a picnic basket and blanket, gassed up the little pink car, and rolled off to Hawkins Farm: windows down, sunglasses on, music blasting. Anyone who complains about the drive from here to there is simply doing it wrong. Stop looking at the drive as an obstacle that stands between you and your destination and start looking at it as part of the journey. With the wind whipping my hair, flying down country roads through farm fields, I felt more alive and more free than I have felt in a very long time. (Maybe the Midwest isn’t such a bad fit for me after all?) When did we stop believing the world was wonderful and full of infinite possibilities for us? Is the pain of adulthood self-inflicted? Is it reversible? I know no one survives adulthood: but damn, in these sunshine flooded moments of absolute happiness, I don’t feel very grown up at all. And when I finally reached my destination, and my tires kicked up dust rolling down the unpaved driveway of the farm, I felt like a little kid again: with the promise of pizza hanging over my head like a birthday piñata full to bursting–and all mine–if I simply have the guts to give it a good whack. 

There’s clear signs, so even an idiot like me won’t get lost on the dusty trail to pizza. Before picking up my two pies, my friend Katie (who works at the farm making pizzas every Friday) invited me into the belly of the beast to have a little look around. When I assure you that your pizzas are being made in a room full of immaculate vibes, believe me. I may occasionally mince words for the sake of kindness when I’m describing food, but when it comes to talking about people: I’m frankly an asshole. When I say only the best, the kindest, the most passionate, and talented of humans are making these pizzas it’s not only a fact; it might be a bit of an understatement. Volchy was on the oven, Tim Brauch aka Kermie was stretching dough, Jody was cutting and boxing, and John was working as Rio’s sous chef on this particular evening. So many dope people and, thanks to Katie, I learned that Tim and Jody have been volunteering for pizza nights for over 10 years! Like–hello, this is an institution and it’s full of amazing people doing amazing work. Each and every person mentioned deserves hugs, love, kudos, and a pat on the back. Walking into their little kitchen feels like walking into a giant hug: and I assure you, it’s not just the heat radiating from the hellfires of the pizza oven. I’m shy. I’m an introvert. I don’t love being around strangers. I’d go back in a heartbeat. I hope that speaks to you. 

In the shade of some trees, near a giant bed of flowers for pollinators, I set up my picnic blanket and basket. I poured myself a glass of my favorite wine to enjoy with pizza: an unoaked Pinot Noir and Chambourcin blend that’s just off-dry, with mid-acid, velvety tannins, and medium body. I don’t like to enjoy pizza without a glass of wine. I’ll do it, if push comes to shove, but I frankly won’t be happy about it. You can keep your trite and meaningless phrases like, “We go together like peanut butter and jelly.” Stupid, dumb, stupid words. It means nothing of any value to me. Pizza and wine are the OTP–and, someday, I’ll make you all listen to my thoughts on the subject. 

As for this particular day, all you really need to know is that I chose my wine thoughtfully. My decision went beyond the fact that ‘this wine tastes good with pizza.’ I particularly enjoy this wine with meaty pizzas–give me a pizza with a robust red sauce, some cured meat or a really fantastic sausage (I’m a simp for sausage), and a glass of this wine and I am a blissed-out girl. But, given that this is a lighter bodied red wine, it plays nicely with earthy things like beets. The special pizzas for the evening were the Harvest Special: featuring Grandma’s Sweet & Spicy Sausage (what did I just say–simp), Onions, Roasted Garlic, and Ricotta; and the Veggie AKA Turnip the Beet-za pizza: featuring Caramelized Onion, Honey Roasted Turnips and Beets, Goat Cheese, Herb and Asian Greens Salad with a Balsamic Beet Vinaigrette. I’m not mad about my wine choice. In fact, right now, I’m not mad about any of my choices: moving to the Midwest, driving forty minutes for pizza, sitting out in the sun to enjoy it, the friends I’ve made since coming to Fort Wayne; all entirely dope choices on my part. Well done, me.

Enough patting myself on the back. It’s time for the “well done, you” portion of this blog: Chef Rio is a pizza mastermind. The way a pizza night at Hawkins Farm works is as such–the sauce and pizza dough are standard and what you might expect to enjoy any Friday pizza night at Hawkins. The pizza cheese is sourced from Hufford Dairy and the pizza sauce comes from Light Rail Cafe. The pizza dough is made with red wheat fife flour from the farm! You can go any Friday for a pie: whether you’re in it for pepperoni, sausage, ham, or a Margherita pizza, they’ve always got your basics covered. The Harvest Special and the Veggie pizza toppings will change from week to week. When there’s not a guest chef, Katie and Volchy come up with the special pizza toppings themselves. (I told you: these people are absolute pros–we should all be so lucky as to taste the fruits of their labor.) But, when there’s a guest chef, the toppings for these two pies are entirely crafted by the guest Chef utilizing produce found at the farm. I don’t know if this is common knowledge, but Chef Rio’s first Executive Chef job was at a pizza place in Dallas. They aren’t new to pizza. In fact, it’s a passion for them and it was entirely apparent upon getting to taste their creations.

Let me start with the sausage pizza, since I’ve already admitted that I’ve got a thing for sausage. (Like, just to drive the point home: my dream birthday party would be a “Sausage Fest” where all my nearest and dearest gather together for a chill hang where we drink nice tasting things and eat a vast array of different types of sausages just for the funs.) I have eaten my fair share of sausage pizza. Some might argue I’ve filled my life with too many sausage pizzas. This one was special. Rio’s sausage is phenomenal. Also: they actually made the ricotta cheese for this pizza. The skill. The effort. The dedication. The yumminess. Have they ruined me for other sausage pizzas? Possibly. Like, how am I supposed to live my life now? The next time I get a standard, run of the mill sausage pizza, I’m probably going to enjoy it–but I’ll also turn to my dining companion and say, “But Rio’s is better.” So, fuck my life, I guess. 

The dark horse of this pizza game is clearly the Turnip the Beet-za pizza. Why? Because it was one of the best pizzas I’ve ever eaten and I don’t think I even like beets. I don’t even know anymore. On Thursday, I was living my life secure in the knowledge that I didn’t like beets. On the drive out to the farm, I was still a girl who didn’t like beets. Now I am a girl who is fighting my friend over leftover pizza slices that I don’t want to share–and, frankly, shouldn’t have to. This pizza is too damn special and I don’t know when I’ll ever get it again–I want to savor every freaking bite. Kindness and manners be damned. This pizza is goated with the sauce. The balsamic beet vinaigrette is otherworldly and, if you didn’t go to pizza night and experience it for yourself, I’m sorry that your life is so sad and meaningless. Aside from the fact that it’s delicious: the absolute gorgeous color of it is beyond aesthetically pleasing. Remember–we eat with our eyes first, so these things matter. As a girl who wears predominantly black, I would more than happily enter my own personal version of a Barbie era if it meant that all my clothes would be balsamic beet vinaigrette hued. My god. I would do dirty, horrible things for another slice of this pizza. The audacity of Chef Rio to make a pizza that tastes this good yet is only available for one night–bravo, but also, why torture me? 

Now, let’s talk about authenticity for a moment. I know: I write about food and I’m certainly not fit to give life advice. Stick with me on this journey, please. I’ve already posted some photos of my experience on the farm to my Instagram stories. The photos show me (with a filter, but we’ll get into that), my wine glass, delicious pizza on display, sitting on a quintessential little checkered picnic blanket, with my adorable picture-perfect picnic basket nearby. I had a great time–and I wanted it to look like I was having a great time–because I want you to go to Hawkins Farm and have a great time, too. Hawkins Farm is truly awe-inspiring in its beauty, so it’s easy to aesthetically capture a lovely pizza night on the farm. But are the photos an authentic representation of my time there? Not entirely. My photos are curated to ensure they convey to you that I’m having a freaking blast. Realistically, it’s summer. It’s hot out. My car told me it was 90 degrees on my drive home. Even in the shade, I was schvitzing like a schlemiel. My hair can’t stand these conditions. I’m a delicate flower made for the air conditioning. (Hence the photo-filter.) Y’all could take one look at the glistening, frizzy mess that is me and be like, “Maybe this event isn’t for me. Looks like harsh conditions.” I don’t want you to think that way. I want you to have fun times despite the effects of the summer sun. So, I try so hard to look perfect–when perfection doesn’t exist–so that your brain gets a big-ass dopamine hit and suddenly you’ve got the urge to do whatever it is that I’m doing. Social media is a lie. I’m sorry that I lied to you but I’ll probably do it again. It’s a little scary to think that, if everything were entirely honest and authentic, you might not be so into the idea. Example: don’t get me started on the bugs. Did you know they live outside? So…like, if you picnic, they’re just going to drop in and say ‘hi,’ like they own the damn place–they do, but nobody wants to see bugs in photos of food.

These are the realities of eating outside and what you really need to know about it is that I’ve never been happier enjoying a slice of pizza in my entire life. Maybe you think it’s stupid to say a pizza changed my life–but it’s honest. This is me being authentic with you. There is something deeply special about eating food, basically at its source, and knowing without question that it was prepared with an insane amount of love, respect, and passion. Sitting in a quaint pastoral setting, amongst flowers, and insects, and all elements of life, you get the absolute privilege of experiencing every one of your senses buzzing with delight: you are exactly where you’re meant to be doing exactly what you’re meant to be doing at exactly that point in time–and if it’s eating some of the most amazing pizza you’ve ever had, in a field, on a farm, enjoying a nice glass of red wine, and swatting away the occasional fly while the sun beats golden rays spanning down from the celestial heavens to kiss, or perhaps burn, your mortal skin…maybe you’re really lucky. Maybe I’m really lucky. Will I go back to the farm for pizza night again? Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I will return. Will I forever look for any possibility to eat pizza made by Rio again: it’s not even a question. Like I said earlier, I genuinely believe that there are different pizzas that we need for various reasons at myriad moments of our lives. Rio’s pizzas, made by a team of accomplished individuals and enjoyed on the picturesque Hawkins Farm, reminded me what it means to be alive. Life is a gift, and really good pizza is the shiny bow on top.