I am a good cook. How do I know I am a good cook? Because, people often tell me I am. However, I live by myself so people don’t see 90% of the meals I make. Therefore, I typically don’t get adequately judged by my family and friends when I have… let’s say, ‘off nights’.
Tonight would probably qualify as such a night. I decided earlier this week that I wanted to make some pizza from scratch. Pizza is my favorite comfort food, but it is one of the few meals I don’t ever make from scratch.
Why you ask? Because, I hate baking.
Why do I hate baking? Because of nights like tonight.
I started this meal yesterday. I made some pizza dough from scratch and set it in a warm dry place to rise for 18 hours.
If I am going to make pizza from scratch, that certainly means the sauce too. So when I got home tonight I whipped some of that up.
Do you electrocute yourself when you make pizza sauce? I do. My stove isn’t properly grounded so when I bump the metal fridge handle next to my stove while I am stirring the sauce I get a friendly little sensation reminding me that the fridge and oven are fighting. That of course sends sauce flying all over the stove, which I suspect is what the fridge intended all along.
Anyways, back to the pizza.
Once the sauce and dough was ready I laid it all out on a nice bed of cornmeal. Though still raw, the pizza was looking good. I could already picture it baking up all bubbly and delicious with slight amounts of char forming on the edges.
However, as far as I have gathered, Bed Bath and Beyond has yet to stock a raw dough teleportation device that will instantly transport my dough from my workstation to my hot baking stone in one piece. Instead, I am stuck in the Stone Age having to rely on my own skills and abilities (which often does not work out in my favor) to move the nicely formed dough onto the hot stone to bake.
Ends up looking like, this…
The dough clung to its original pan like Joan Rivers clings to illusions of youth. I had to par-bake the crust on the baking sheet before I could even think about getting it to slide off. Once the crust got partially baked I still needed a brown paper bag, a spatula, and three knifes to separate the crust from the pan.
However, like any good horror movie, the damage was not done. After the pizza finished baking on the stone I found the two had become a conjoined twin, separated only with careful culinary surgery. The result gave life to a grotesquely deformed pizza baby, but one that I will love <to eat> unconditionally nonetheless.