Tossing the dough babies
My close acquaintances know not to expect any culinary skills from me other than the ability to open the microwave or unscrew a bottle top. I’ve probably never cooked a meal in my life except for pizza, which for some strange reason I learned how to make from scratch, by watching Jamie Oliver videos on Youtube. I employ this skill when I’m trying to impress someone special. Have I ever done it for you? No? Then you’re not special.
I recently found a Groupon for a pizza-making class in NYC and I figured it’d be nice to learn how to make it like a pro. The ingredients and directions were much simpler than Jamie Oliver’s and they even involved tossing the dough up in the air like a bona fide Italian plumber. The dirty secret of the class is that, after we’d all made our dough balls from scratch, they threw them all in the bin and gave us better ones that they’d prepared earlier, to ensure accuracy and avoid us having to wait for “the rising”. I was sad to see our little dough babies whisked away to their deaths.
There was beer included in the class, so we could mingle and socialise during the prep and afterwards, while we waited for the cooking. Our pizzas were absolutely gorgeous and way better than my previous home-made delicacies. I would probably do the class again just to eat it again. I’d basically be paying someone else to so that I can eat food that I made myself, but it’d be worth it. If the most satisfying pizza of my life costs the lives of a few dough babies, so be it.