What disappointment looks like.

When I woke up this morning I had a great idea. It was the type of good idea I'll bet most people have at least once every couple of weeks: pizza. I like to make my own pizza, a habit I got into while living in Brooklyn with my most excellent friend Kevin. Kevin inherited a auxiliary pizza stone from his brother and we probably used it once a week. Initially we used store bought frozen dough but eventually graduated to making our own which I would say was overall successful. People always talk about New York pizza as this untouchable pinnacle of pizza perfection, and while it's pretty good, the difference between a slice of dollar pizza and say, Di Fara's, is pretty negligible to me. As some of you may know, I had surgery to remove my adenoids among other small surgeries a few years ago and it's left me without much of a sense of smell which naturally affects the way I taste things. Also, I really don't care. Pizza is hard to really mess up. However, is exactly what I did today. After spending a few hours collecting ingredients, making and waiting for my dough to rise and finally cooking my pizza it came out as bad as it can.


I am pretty sure I made all the correct conversions from cups to liters and Fahrenheit to Celsius, but something still went very wrong. Thus, after a lot of anticipation and building up a huge hunger snacking on pepperonis while preparing my pizza I'm left with a big black pile of disappointment. So instead I cooked up the only other thing I had in the fridge.


This is the very picture of dissatisfaction. I think tonight for dinner will be some feel-good, unhealthy-but-fulfilling, McDonald's to drown myself in.