Pizza, pizza!

I love pizza like the next guy.

Here's the thing, though: Going out for a pie is one of my favorite activities, but sometimes it's nice to just make it at home. But there's a slight problem with this in that I don't know much about pizza dough making.

Of course there's always the Buy-your-dough-from-a-local-pizzeria solution. I recently did this, topping the pie with roasted butternut squash, caramelized onion, spicy sausage and smoked mozzarella. It was delicious, but it felt like I was cheating.

Until a few months ago, I'd baked homemade pizza in an old 9 x 13 sheet pan. A co-worker kindly gave me a pizza stone and it motivated me to try my hand at some dough. It turned out well, but it still wasn't Luzzo's, Motorino or Michael Angelo's quality.

Obviously, I'm not surprised my dough didn't taste the same. First off, I'm certain these recipes have been passed down forever. Plus, I just don't have the right equipment—a pizza stone, as great as it is, cannot do what a professional oven can.

Either way, I'm now on a mission to find the most amazing pizza dough recipe. Have one you'd like to share? Please send it my way. Keep in mind that I'll be using a pizza stone (which reminds me that I need to pick up a peel—a vital tool I'm missing) and that I have a tiny, conventional oven.

In return, I'd be more than happy to provide some of my topping ideas. Swiss chard, bacon and smoked gouda pizza anyone?

It's French to Me

Day 1

I didn't lose any fingers, but I did gain some humility. Note to self: Remember to button up my chef jacket all the way, learn how to tie a neckerchief and don't slouch when I stand.

Oh, and quickly pick up francais.

We got right down to business the first day. After receiving our tool kits (which are awesome—and awesomely heavy), we broke them open and began chopping. It was at this point that I wished I'd studied French instead of Spanish. Emincer, ciseler, macedoine, brunoise, paysanne... it's all foreign to me. Must learn immediately.

On top of that, my knife skills could use some major work. I feel as slow as a snail. Hopefully, practice makes perfect. I'm going to be chopping up more carrots than Bugs Bunny eats until I get it right.

Perhaps the hardest part, though, was getting used to standing all day. Yes, I knew that was going to be part of it, and yes, I knew the kitchen would be hot as hell. But after sitting on my bum behind a computer all day for the last seven years, it's quite a change. I've obviously blocked the years I spent catering from my memory.

I better suck it up.

When I got home, I zonked out. For like three hours. I got up because, well, I had to eat dinner. Ryan and I celebrated at one of our favorite pizza joints in New York, Michael Angelo's in Astoria. We cheered my first day of culinary school over wine, calamari, a thin-crust Sophia Loren pie, and a special pasta dish (with pear ravioli, grapes and a creamy gorgonzola sauce). Limoncello was on the house.

Salute! Or, I should say, 'Sante!' I made it through the first day. Now I've gotta locate that French dictionary...