So I just flew in from Barino's Italian Market in the Bronx, and boy are my arms tired. I spent over thirty dollars on fragile ravioli, the wrong sausage, and other items that would be enhanced by several hours bouncing around on a bicycle, and came home as an inspired Italian chef. Naturally, the first thing I wanted to do was to create a great pizza, so I took the dough I had purchased and abused across one huge park, two subways, and several miles of bicycling through New York.
You doubted me? You thought I couldn't handle the simple task of cutting a ball of dough in half, stretching it out (oh, maybe I should have re-shaped it instead of pulling this half-circle), covering it with toppings (oh, maybe I should have done it on something moveable instead of the counter) and then inserting it into the oven (oh, maybe I should have found an appropriate way to transfer it instead of throwing it with my hands)
It may have been an ugly pizza, but at least it was fun.