once upon a tuesday night, as dinner time was fast approaching, our heroine decided to offer something unlike any other heretofor: pizza.

“pizza?”  thou might protest. “that is not an unusual delight.”

true, while pizza was certainly no stranger to the typical tuesday night table, this time it would not be Father Angelo who prepared the feast. oh no. on this particular eve, our brave narrator would attempt from scratch to provide the meal herself.

calmly and carefully, she measured the ingredients. 2 cups wheat flour. 1 and 1/2 cups white flour. a dash of salt, a spoon of oil, and one mysterious substance called Rapid Rising Yeast. nervously, she coaxed the ingredients to behave, mixing them thoroughly until finally, they formed dough.

this first, small victory being achieved, she breathed a quiet prayer and gently laid a warm towel over the bowl. now it had been more than a fortnight since the autumnal equinox and the house held a slight chill. our narrator had heard whisperings of many a failed dough-rising as a result of such temperatures and attempted to create a more encouraging environment by slightly warming the oven and allowing the dough to rest therein.

the next hour crept along wearily, waiting for the magical rising to occur, fearing to sneak a peek at the process lest the sudden rush of cold air stymie all progress.  finally, she heard the bell toll. the hour being passed, she opened the door, gingerly set the warm bowl on the counter and removed the towel.

it had risen! it had risen, indeed! a quick and happy jig was danced before endeavoring the next task: the great separation. as before, steady hands and precise movements were of the utmost importance, lest the dough, overworked, become tough and chewy. great pains being taken to prevent its agitation, the dough was cleverly divided in two.

once more, the warm towel protected its inchoate ward. another span of time meant for waiting. another sabbath for our bread.

not so long as before, however, the proper season eventually arrived: it was time to add the trimmings. one bejeweled in glorious crimson, the other in shy green. both were laid upon a warm stone and nestled back into the dark, dry bosom of the oven, now piping hot. within the merest matter of moments, our narrator’s great ambition was ultimately and deliciously achieved.

all the company rejoiced! wine flowed freely and good-natured compliments joined in. and thus went the tale of that tuesday night’s happy adventures.