Perhaps it’s just more American bumptiousness, but in my opinion the English can’t do pizza. And so I’ve taken it upon myself to figure it out. I’ve experimented with different ratios of flour to water to yeast. Rising time. Rolling techniques. Sauces. Toppings. Oven temperatures. Metal. Then stone.
And with the experimentation, came the pizza party. I had to recruit a few more guinea pigs, otherwise Tom would inevitably turn into this kid. And with one party, came another and another. And then Columbia Road. For a very brief stint, I worked alongside Uyen of Fernandez and Leluu, selling pizza. And it was good.
But just when things were getting off the ground, I had to stop. We thought we were operating with the proper permits, but then were told otherwise. So back to the cutting board I go.