The Dough Is Never Quite The Same
A rumination on pizza.
I made pizza last night.
This happens fairly often, and with good reason: pizza is delicious, and I like eating it.
Of course, there are far easier ways to reach that endpoint than to go through all the labor of the pizza-making process—mixing dough from scratch, kneading, pulling, rising, resting, stretching, saucing, topping, baking, and so forth. There’s a Domino’s less than a five-minute drive from my house, and I always have a few of the terrible microwave Kroger pizzas my young children like in the freezer. (Being young, their preferences are more or less inversely proportional to actual quality.) Unless you live somewhere exceptionally remote, it’s almost always easier not to make pizza yourself.
I take the long route, though, because I find the process enjoyable. Soothing, even. At least once a month, I dive into the multi-day endeavor of building a pie all my own.
That probably makes me a Pizza Guy: a certain type of Guy who’s taken the vast and boundless opportunity afforded by…