Lesson Seven: Learn to Cook
Some of my richest memories weren’t made on vacations or at big events. They were created in kitchens, around tables, and amidst controlled chaos.
If home had a scent, for me, it would be garlic hitting hot olive oil, tomato sauce simmering on the stove, and meatballs just pulled from the pan, still sizzling. Almost every Sunday, we gathered at my aunt’s house. The cavatelli and meatballs were always there, and so were the people I loved most. The food was the center, but the love was what made it all stick. That, along with the real chance of a wooden spoon flying through the air! Memories that are impossible to forget.
Food Is a Language
Food, done right, does more than feed. It brings people together. My grandfather’s salad dressing, my mom’s pork chops, my dad’s chili, my wife’s soups - each dish held more than flavor. Each was a story, a ritual, a form of love that didn’t need to be spoken.
My grandfather was famous for his salad dressing. I don’t remember the exact details of the story, but someone in the family was gifted his salad dressing recipe, which was written down on a notepad. Finally, we would all know one of the greatest mysteries of the universe! Scribbled down were ingredients and the amount required to unlock perfection. It all seemed fairly straightforward.
At the bottom, one final line: “Flip over.”
The back of the page was blank.
At first, I’m sure there was some frustration. But now, I think everyone loves that blank page more than if we knew every ingredient and amount down to the exact gram. It was the recipe. It was his way of saying, 'You have to feel your way through this, just as I did.’ The mystery of the dressing was the mystery of the man. It’s a story that will live and carry on his legacy as long as we continue to remember.
The Recipe You Never Finish
I’ve added a few dishes of my own to the family’s story. My spicy rigatoni has become a house favorite. Creamy, bold, and comforting, it is often requested.
But my real obsession is pizza.
I’ve spent years chasing the perfect grandma-style pie. I weigh the flour, test the hydration levels, stretch the dough, oil the pan, and bake it on a steel surface. Some days, everything clicks. Other days, it doesn’t. But even the misses are worth it. Because in that pursuit, there’s meaning. There’s a process. There’s peace.
One night, I began writing down the recipe. I listed the ingredients, outlined the steps, and tried to make it as precise as possible. But right before I finished, I realized that words on paper could never encapsulate what it takes to produce my pizza. I had my own “flip over” moment.
The truth is, the real recipe can’t be fully written. It’s passed down in the feel of the dough, the smell of the sauce, and the rhythm of care you bring to the process. It lives in the pauses, the mistakes, the intuition. That’s where the magic hides.
My Daughters Are Watching
My daughters now pull up chairs to the counter. They want to stir, sprinkle cheese, and help me cook. What they’re learning isn’t just how to follow a recipe. They’re learning that food is a way to take care of others, to connect, to show up.
It’s messy. It’s loud. But in the middle of that chaos, there’s clarity. The kitchen is one of the few places where life slows down enough to let you feel the moment, whether it’s cooking breakfast or preparing a late-night feast when someone is craving something.
No one wants to cook spicy rigatoni at midnight. I don't remember how any of those late-night dishes tasted, but I do remember making them with my girls, and I know they remember the same. I hope one day they tell these stories just as I tell the one of my grandpa’s salad dressing.
Why Cooking Matters
Anthony Bourdain once said, “Meals make the society, hold the fabric together.”
He was right.
Food is memory. Food is identity. Food is a connection. So learn to cook - not because you have to, but because it brings us back to what matters. It reminds us of who we are and who we cook for.
And because no good story is complete without something to pass along, here’s one of mine. My grandma-style pizza. Make it, share it, and remember, the real recipe lives on the back of the page.
Grandma-Style Pizza
12x16 Pan (Preferably a Llyods) – Single Pie
From my kitchen to yours.
Ingredients (72-Hour Cold Ferment)
405g King Arthur Bread Flour
271g Water (68% hydration)
1.5g Instant Yeast
7g Salt
9g Sugar
15g Olive Oil
Instructions
1. Mix
Combine flour, water, and sugar. Let rest for 30 minutes (autolyse). Then mix in the yeast. Add salt and olive oil last. Knead by hand for 8–10 minutes, or use a stand mixer. You’ll know it when the dough passes the “window pane” test.
2. Ferment
Transfer dough to a lightly oiled bowl. Cover and leave at room temperature for 2 hours, while performing 2-3 stretch and folds every 30-45 minutes. Then transfer to a 42-degree fridge for 68-70 hours.
3. Pan & Proof
Remove from the refrigerator 3-4 hours before baking. Allow the dough to warm to room temperature. Two hours before baking, oil a 12x16 LloydPans Grandma-Style Pan. Gently stretch the dough to fill the pan. It won’t stretch completely at first, that’s ok! Cover and let it continue to rise for 2 hours. Every half hour or so, continue stretching to fill the pan. If it keeps pulling back, just wait. This is all about feel. Don’t rush it. Trust the process.
4. Parbake
Preheat oven to 500°F for at least one hour with a baking steel on the middle rack. Parbake the dough for 9-10 minutes.
5. Top & Finish Bake
Remove from oven, top with sauce (crushed tomatoes with garlic and salt), mozzarella, and your favorite toppings (pepperoni, ricotta, hot honey—whatever brings joy). Return to the oven and bake for an additional 10–12 minutes, until the edges are crisp and the cheese is bubbling. Hit it with the broiler for a minute or two to your preferred doneness.
6. Rest & Serve
Let cool for 5 minutes. Slice into squares and serve hot.
7. Flip over.
(The rest is up to you.)