Growing up, I always took for granted my family’s home cooking. It wasn’t until high school that I realized my friends anticipated dinner at my house more than coming over to throw the football. When I went away for college, I found myself really missing my families cooking. After reading an article on the laxatives they add to your favorite college cafeteria plan meals, I picked up preparing my own meals. At first it was a lot of trial and error; if you didn’t notice, Italians can be stubborn, that word doesn’t describe me enough, neither does persistent. One of my favorite things I missed about home was the pizza. Unfortunately, Rhode Island made a terrible slice. Pizza nights, whether making our own from scratch or visiting one of the famous local eateries was a huge part of my childhood. It wasn’t until going away to school that I discovered the college craze of chicken bacon ranch and buffalo chicken flat breads (I can’t even call them pizza). The dough was so bad the the pizza needed condiments to be edible. This is where my passion for pizza began.