Finding Purpose in Pizza
Unlike most of the world, I did not learn how to make sourdough during the pandemic. Baking supplies were scarce at my local grocery store and to be perfectly honest, the whole making bread from scratch idea seemed a bit too Little House on the Prairie for me. I figured if I took on sourdough, I’d be heading down a slippery slope, and before I knew it I’d be churning my own butter or darning socks (which is frightening because I have absolutely zero clue what “darning” even means). This city girl said “No thank you,” to any and all acts of domesticity inspired by quarantine. It’s been over two years since I had to stay home with my family for weeks on end and I still haven’t attempted to make sourdough. (I’ll leave that to the talented bakers over at Boudin San Francisco because why try to top perfection?) I sold my bread maker before we moved to Mississippi and I don’t regret it one bit. I don’t think homemade bread is in my wheelhouse. At least, not yet. It’s here I must confess that in the last few months I’ve taken up the art of making pizza dough from scratch. I recognize it’s a gateway to the harder stuff like pie crust, dinner rolls, baguettes, and *gulp* sourdough, but let’s take things one step at a time.
All summer long our family deemed Friday nights “Movie and Milkshake Night.” Each week we’d make a different flavored milkshake and pick a flick to watch together. The fun of milkshakes and dessert pretty quickly extended into dinnertime, and the kids asked for pizza as a predecessor. There was a time when I would have leaned on good ol’ Papa Murphy to do the job, but alas, Papa Murphy does not reside in my small town here in Mississippi, nor does any local pizza place deliver to our address. (We are really suffering down here, please send sympathy cards and some Chicago-style deep dish.) Necessity is the mother of invention, so, I flipped through my favorite recipe books in search of a pizza dough recipe that didn’t look too complicated or time-consuming. Not only did I find a simple, no-fail recipe, but it included a 3-ingredient pizza sauce to top it with. I rolled up my sleeves, floured my countertops, and got to work.
At first, it didn’t look like much, or even remotely appetizing. The combination of yeast, warm water, and sugar was beige and bubbly. My daughter likened it to a sort of science experiment gone awry. I added flour and attached my never-before-used dough hook to the stand mixer. (If I was being forced to make dough from scratch, I could at least bypass the manual kneading portion of the process. I make a point never to expend energy where it’s not implicitly needed.) I was encouraged to see something resembling bread dough beginning to form in the bowl. The next step was to cover the dough and set it in a warm place to rise. Living in the South, a warm place could literally be anywhere outside the walls of my home. I tucked a dish towel over the top of the bowl and nestled my dough in for a nap on the back patio.
After an hour had passed I was pleased to find the dough had doubled in size. I brought it back inside and pulled back the towel as my daughter looked on from her perch on top of the kitchen stool. I checked the recipe: “Punch dough down; re-cover and let rest for an additional five minutes.” I wound up my fist and delivered my best sucker punch. The dough released what I can only describe as a pathetic but panicky gasp. My daughter stared, wide-eyed.
“Just when I thought it was done, you punch it back down again!” she exclaimed. “That hardly seems fair!”
I shrugged. “Just following the recipe.”
“It better be worth it.”
“Time will tell.”
And it did because twenty minutes later we were enjoying warm, thick, pillowy pizza crust topped with savory tomato sauce, sweet Italian sausage, and caramelized onions. As we indulged in the fruits of our labor, my daughter and I recalled the crust-making process with the rest of the family around the dinner table. We were laughing at the rude awakening the dough got after being disturbed from its nice warm nap on the patio. Imagine cozying up under a fresh blanket and waiting quietly in the dark, slowly rising, preparing to meet your purpose, and instead, you’re met with a punch in the face and more time in the dark. Life is like that sometimes, isn’t it?
Often God’s purpose for us is at the end of a long journey, a journey that starts out ugly and uncertain. In the beginning, it’s hard to imagine things ever looking better, ever making something spectacular that we will enjoy. This is the beige, bubbly part of the process. The next step requires courage and faith. We hold fast to God’s promises, trusting Him and leaning not on our understanding. We swallow our doubt and head into battle. We take hit after hit, wondering if it will ever end. Our enemies surround us, the waves overwhelm us, and we cry out for reprieve, for rest. This is the kneading part of the process, (by hand or by dough hook; pick your poison). When the struggle is over, we are bone-tired. We pull the covers over us and welcome the dark. The blackness is comforting in a way. It’s lonely, yes, but it’s safe. While we’re recovering from our wounds, little do we know that we are also rising. Slowly but surely, we are being raised and stretched toward the coming light. After a while our patience wears thin and we decide we’ve had enough idling; we just want to see what it’s all been for. This is the rest and rise part of the process. It’s the slowest but most important part. Finally, the clouds lift and we see the first hint of light. We puff out our chests and proudly raise our arms in victory. We did it! That’s when we feel it; the blow we didn’t see coming. Before we know what’s happened we’re back in the dark, the wind knocked out of us, questioning the entire process. We don’t understand it. This is the final step, the one that will ensure we become exactly who we’re meant to be. We need only to survive it, to keep the faith, to cling to God and His assurance that He is working all things together for our good. Then, at last, it’s over. We’ve arrived. We are ready to be molded and shaped, transformed, and made new. We’ve grown in patience, faith, and courage.
I don’t know what part of the process you’re in. Maybe, like me, your patience is hanging on by a thin thread and you’re done with all the rest and darkness. I’m ready to get back in there, to finally see what God’s been preparing me for. No matter where in the journey you are, let me assure you it will be worth it. That is if pizza is any proof, and I really believe it is.
Easy Peasy, Purposeful Pizza Dough: 1 pkg dry yeast, 1/2 t. sugar, 2 c. warm water (divided), 5 1/4c. all-purpose flour (divided), 1 T. extra-virgin olive oil, 1/2 t. kosher salt, cooking spray
Dissolve yeast and sugar in 1/2 c. warm water in a large bowl; let stand 5 minutes, or until bubbly.
Lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Stir the remaining 1 1/2 c. water into the yeast mixture. Add 4 3/4c. flour, oil, and salt; beat with a mixer at medium speed until smooth. Turn dough onto a floured surface. Knead until smooth and elastic (about 5 minutes); add enough of the remaining 1/2 c. flour, 1 T. at a time, to prevent dough from sticking to hands.
Place dough in a large bowl coated with cooking spray, turning to coat top. Cover and let rise in a warm place (85 degrees, free from drafts), for 45 minutes or until doubled in size. Punch dough down; cover and let rest 5 more minutes.
Roll out dough according to recipe directions, or place in a bowl coated with cooking spray; cover and refrigerate for up to 2 days.