Our pizza night growing up was rarely an affair catered by Pizza Hut or Dominos.  We used to frequent a family-owned joint that most Northern Virginians are probably familiar with called Joes.  We’d get take out from the Bailey’s Crossroads location, ordering doughy Sicilian pies with mounds of thinly-shaved toppings.  Their crusty calzones hid pools of creamy ricotta, melty mozzarella and tender ham.  They made the steak and cheese hero that I continue to judge all others against.  And their hippie rolls, a sausage stromboli of sorts with a tasty touch of crushed red pepper, became the fodder for regular, late night food cravings.  Pliant and chewy pizza dough held sweet roasted peppers and onions and a smidge of mozzarella cheese.  My dad would order a couple and slice them into rings for everyone to snack on, and they rarely lasted long. Continue reading Hippie Roll →