The pizza is an absolute good.

The pizza is an absolute good.

Man, who doesn’t like a good pizza?  If you answered “nobody,” then you’re a person who doesn’t know what a rhetorical question is.  If, however, you understood that I was implying with my question that everyone loves pizza, then congratulations: you probably don’t have Down Syndrome. 

I decided to make pizza, on a whim, last Sunday morning while at Whole Foods.  You see, while I was there I happened to notice this mind-blowingly beautiful woman shopping, and she had a really tight outfit on.  I assumed that she had just come from yoga, or pilates, or my dreams, or something, and her body was unforgettable.  I’m talking a legitimate Vegas Ten, here, and her outfit only served to make her even more ridiculously sexy.  Seriously, you know how some prudy people might say disapproving things like “she was wearing a top that left nothing to the imagination”?  Well these people’s imaginations must be Amish, because it was the very fact that this outfit was practically painted-on which made my imagination go fucking nuts.  Trust me, there were things going on in my brain which would have made Larry Flynt blush.  Anyway, that really had nothing to do with the reason I wanted to make pizza, but, seriously, you should have seen this dame.  Woof!

Do you have any idea how hard it is to roofie a chick in a grocery store?!?!  Not that hard, actually.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to roofie a chick in a grocery store?!?! Surprisingly, not so hard.

I decided to make a traditional Margherita pizza, just like they make on the Pallazzo Valla De La Luna di Vincenzo Gattallantana in Sorento*.  The beauty of the Margherita pizza is in the simplicity of its ingredients: dough, mozzarella, basil, and tomatoes.  Sounds easy, right?  If you said “yes,” then you still don’t get the whole “rhetorical question” thing.  Also, if that’s what you think, smarty pants, then why don’t you just go make the damn thing yourself?  For everyone else who’s not an ungrateful jerk-face, here’s how you can have a little piece of Italy, right in you own home (minus all the vespas and chest hair, of course):

Procure the following ingredients, good sir:

Pizza dough
San Marzano tomatoes
Cheese Nips
Good olive oil
Klausen pickles
Kosher salt (if you don’t have the kosher variety, just use what you’ve got, only read from the Torah while adding it.  Don’t have a Torah?  Good luck in hell.)
I said “basil,” right?  Okay, good

Combine thusly:

You’re going to have to go to Whole Foods to get the dough, because I don’t feel like telling you how to make that shit, right now.  Plus, while you’re there you’ll probably see hot chicks shopping after their pilates class.  Go ahead and pick yourself up a frozen pizza, too, because even though it’s simple, you’re probably going to find some way to fuck this recipe up.

Get your oven really hot.  I suggest putting on some Nina Simone and gently kissing its neck.  Stretch the dough out to whatever size pizza you want.  Don’t be a fancy-pants jerk, though, and throw it around like they do on the T.V. – you’re not nearly ethnic enough for that.  Drink the bottle of Chianti.  And by “bottle of Chianti” I, of course, mean “four bottles of Charles Shaw Merlot.”  Crush the tomatoes just like your seventh-grade girlfriend did to your heart, and spread them around the dough.  Sprinkle with salt.  Chiffonade the basil and sprinkle over the tomatoes.  Look up what “chiffonade” means.  Throw on some slices of mozzarella, and put the whole she-bang in the oven.  If you have a pizza stone, way to go; you probably think you’re better than me, don’t you.  Well, fuck off, Mr. Williams-Sonoma Catalog Man.  For those of us who don’t have disposable income to spend on a slab of rock, cook the pizza on a baking sheet until the cheese starts to bubble, then take it out and immediately bite into it.  Ha!  Oh, man, did you just burn your mouth!  That suuuucks.  Why did you do that?!?!?  I can’t believe you just did that!  What an idiot!  Anyway, drizzle on some olive oil, cut the pizza into tetrahedronal slices, and enjoy. 

It probably speaks volumes about my psyche that pizza made me think of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles made me think of how much I wanted to do bad, bad things to April O'Neil when I was a kid.

 “But what about the Cheese Nips and pickles you told us to buy?”  Well, I own stock in Kraft Foods, kids, and Daddy needs some dividend checks to pay off his bookies.  It’s pretty hard to cook with your thumbs broke.  Trust me.   

*May or may not exist.  Mostly not.