You make dough the way we have since we discovered fire and edible dust.
You roll it out flat. Not into a crescent or a torus or anything with a twist in it. A flat circle. Geometry does not get more primitive than that.
You make some tomato sauce. That can be tricky, what with having to heat up the tomatoes real good and drop in a spoon of well known herbs.
Then you have to shred cheese. Take it apart into little bits. Uniform sizes or dust ‘n’ chunks, it doesn’t matter.
Put it in a freaking oven.
Look at it now and then.
Why is it, then, that 99 out of a hundred pizza places cannot manage to get all three constituent parts right simultaneously: flattened bread, warmed tomatoes, cheese shards?
Yet we don’t learn. We enter an unfamiliar pizza place thinking that, since it is in the full-time business of doing nothing but making pizzas, and have been making pizzas every day for the past forty years, maybe it will manage to get all three ingredients right at the same time.
Nope. The bread is soggy. The sauce tastes like yesterday’s tomato soup, tarted up with a squeeze of ketchup. The cheese is orange, burnt, or came in a block stamped “CHEESE.” One, two, or three of these conditions will obtain. Always.
Maybe if we dropped it down to just two ingredients, we could get a decent freaking pizza without having to go across town to a place that is one old Italian man away from closing forever, taking with him the now impossible dream of cheesy bread with red sauce done right.
[rating=expectation:10;reality:5]