Once the crust was the thickness Dante liked, he added the sauce and mozz. “You like basil?” he asked Izz who was sitting on a barstool that had been brought into the kitchen.
Izz shrugged. “I guess, never really had it.”
“You probably have.” Dante’s lips pulled back into a wide toothy grin. He laid thin slices of Roma tomatoes around the pizza along with bright green whole basil leaves he’d picked from the greenhouse that Papi had built on the adjoining lot when he’d first opened the restaurant. “Most of the vegetables and herbs we grow in that little green house got their start in a pot that my Nona kept on the back porch.” He added roasted cloves of garlic to the pie and some sweet Italian sausage.
“So this place has been in your family for a long time, huh?” asked Izz.