My Passion for Pizza

Well, it’s over. Pizza B. C. has closed its doors forever, and shut my dream down with it. But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I need to backtrack a couple years and blog from the beginning …


My story really started off with a slice of pizza.

Pre College, I had never really had any interests or talents, and when I got to college, I had no idea what I was doing there. I took to wondering aimlessly around the town, when one day I walked past a pizzeria. Maybe it was fate that I hadn’t eaten that day and that the smell of pizza was coming through the chimney, or maybe I was just hungry, but I went in and bought a slice. I knew right then that I had found my passion; pizza.

Now that I had discovered what I wanted to do with my life, I felt unstoppable. Who cares that I had never cooked anything in my life? I was going to be a pizza chef; I just knew it would happen.

I bought cookbook after cookbook and trained myself. I improvised and invented, never getting sick of the taste of hot pizza, and was always armed with a pie fresh out of the oven. The more I worked, the more I wanted to learn about the art of pizza, so I applied to culinary school.

When the acceptance letter came from a cooking school in Rome, New York, I was ecstatic and immediately packed my bags. I signed up for every pizza class available, and anything that was remotely related to pizza. Classes were hard, but I was diligent and my love of Pizza stayed with me.

Before we were assigned a group cooking project, I had never really associated with my classmates. I realized I was in trouble then; while everyone in the class was partnering up, I was standing by myself, accompanied only by my pizza.

But thankfully, I wasn’t the only one. There, also standing alone, but looking much more comfortable with it, was another chief. I walked over and introduced myself, and he proposed we work together. And thus Marcus Brutus and Julius Caesar met.

It turned out we made a great team. My devoutness and love for pizza was paired with his confidence in everything he did. After the project was over, we worked on another group project together, and then another, and by the time we graduated, people didn’t call us “Marcus” or “Julius” anymore, but “Marcus and Julius” or sometimes even “B. C.” (for our last names).

Once out of culinary school, we decided it was only fitting to continue our team work and open up a Pizzeria. We decided to call it “Pizza B. C.”