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I’ve decided. When I make a grocery run, next week I will pick up the things to be brave enough to make pizza from scratch. I need to stop relying on store-bought dough. It’s unpredictable and I fail at stretching it into a nice even disk. From scratch dough aside, I’m not going to make a Marguerite (if that’s the proper spelling?) pizza. I want a nice white pizza, feta, roma tomatoes, broccoli, spinach. And I will make it, if it kills me.

Although, a Marguerite pizza does sound good. With just sauce and cheese. Maybe I’ll make two pizzas. One to get my feta fix out of the way, the other because it’s been a while since I’ve had a truly good red sauced pizza.

Or maybe I’ll make that chicken alfredo pizza. With shredded chicken this time, not cubed. The cubed of chicken were falling off every time I took a bite. The pizza itself was rather garlick-y too. But I love garlic and it was delicious.

Now I must ask, am I even spelling Marguerite right? Somehow, I doubt it.

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