Pizza tower: The novel

Prolouge

"Ok Peppino, now it's-a your turn"

The young boy looked to his father. A freshly spun pizza base was balanced on his finger tip, like a delicate seesaw, one wrong move and the whole thing tips over. It had been, what, only a year? A year since they moved from Italy, a year since they left the city of Bologna. It was his fathers dream to move to America, open up a restaurant, become a successful chef. But all of those dreams only amounted to a part time job as a janitor at a local bar. Still, Peppino's father made time for teaching his skills to the young boy. He was a portly man, with a big mustache and big, beefy arms. Despite this, his technique was as delicate as a flower, dancing in the wind.

As for Peppino? Well, he was almost a copy of his father. He too, was a strong, portly man, but lacked the grace of his father. Thus, only a year before, Peppino asked his father to teach him. Teach him how to make a pizza

As the dough flew through the air, it promptly crashed and fell on the table, not at all the landing hoped for by the young chef. "Oh...mama-mia i will never-a get this right. Why can't I be like-a you dad? You're-a so good..."

His father let out a hearty laugh "Ohohohoho. Peppino? Did you-a really think I got this whole pizza-making perfected on-a my first-a try? No! it takes-a skill...dedication...and time. You will be a good chef one day, Peppino. I promise."

The young boy looked up, hope glimmering in his eyes. 

"Yes dad! I will-a be a great chef!"