When I lived in Austin in my early 20s, I became obsessed with baking pizza at home. At least once a week, I’d prepare a yeast dough, then top it with whatever I had on hand, be it sausage, fresh vegetables, beans, or leftover barbecue. Having friends over for dinner and making them pizzas brought me great joy.
After I moved to New York, people told me that I probably wouldn’t be making pizzas very often, as the city is renowned for its pies. Indeed, when I wasn’t on the hunt for Tex-Mex, I did spend . . .
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