“It’s Just Pizza… Right?”

I was eating pizza the other day at Fazzari’s Finest, a local place in Clarkston. The Fazzari family has been running it for years. Super kind people. They can make a mean pizza pie.
My pie I order? Large cheese with extra cheese and extra sauce. Tomatoes on the side.

I had that thought. Pizza isn’t rocket science. How hard can it be?

Prices have been creeping up, and at some point you start doing the math. For this price… I could just make it.

After a quick search, I knew what I needed.

Ingredients: Flour, water, yeast, salt.
I measured everything by weight like I suddenly knew what I was doing. Learned about hydration percentages. I looked up different types of starters and their benefits.

Sourdough? Poolish?

If you’re brave enough to try this yourself, I followed a couple of guys on Instagram—@pizzofart—who made it look a lot easier than it was. @davespizzaoven who makes all manner of pizza. Fair warning—if you make it… you’re probably eating the whole thing.

This was so much fun. Somewhere along the way, pizza turned into a science project. I even thought about changing my name to something Italian… maybe adding “Professor” to my nametag.

Two days later, I had dough that actually looked right. Soft, elastic… alive in a kinda creepy way. 

I thought I had it dialed in. Until I tried to stretch it. It was supposed to make a 14-inch pizza. Nope.

Mine fought me the whole way.
Tight, and springing back. I worked it, rested it, tried again…and finally just looked at it and said, you’re about a 10-inch pizza today.

At that point, I was getting hungry and a little impatient. So I did what any reasonable person would do.

I threw it in the oven.

What came out wasn’t what I planned. It was thick, puffy, and almost bread-like. It was… incredible. Crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, with that chew you don’t get from most takeout places.

Damn good pizza. Amazing really.

I ate it. All of it.  That’s when it hit me like a ton of dough. Why I don’t make pizza at home?

Because if I do…I will eat it.

All of it, every time. No hesitation. No restraint. No leftovers. Boom.

Maybe that’s part of the whole thing I missed the first time. I started this thinking pizza was simple. Sort of simple. I learned it takes time, patience, and a little bit of trust. 

Yes, I saved some cash and learned a skill. But I burned a lot of time. Three pizzas, two days just to get the dough right.

Would I do it again?

You bet. Maybe next summer.

My brother heard about it and decided I needed a real pizza oven—because apparently this is a thing now. HA.

I also learned something else. When you make something yourself, and build it from nothing—you commit to it. If you’re like me… you eat it.

I was surprised by how long it took. The waiting, the building—it turned into a fun weekend project.
And somewhere in there, I started thinking about the people who do this every day.

Hats off to those pizza people—especially Clarkston’s own Fazzari’s.
They do this every day. They work the dough, get it right, and somehow make it look easy.

But it’s more than that.
It’s the smile, the joke, the way they hand you a piping hot pizza like it matters—because it does.

Is it the best in the Valley? A lot of people think so. But, it’s not just the pizza.
It’s the Fazzari family that makes it special.

— Dennis

Author Note

Dennis D. Montoya is a fantasy and literary fiction writer exploring themes of connection, memory, and resilience. He writes from the intersection of storytelling and healthcare, where empathy is both a craft and a calling.

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Granted sometimes when I get an idea in my head, I go over board.

So worth it!

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