Our Story

I didn’t just want to learn how to make pizza, I wanted to chase it back to its source. So instead of buying a cookbook, I bought a plane ticket to Italy.

It might sound impulsive, even irrational, to wake up one morning and decide to fly across the globe. But some dreams aren’t imagined; they’re inherited. Mine was sparked by my father’s memory, nudged forward by a wrong delivery, and brought to life by the unexpected gift of an Italian passport.

I was born in Corpus Christi, Texas, to two New Yorkers in search of a quieter life. Some of my strongest memories are of my father cooking on special occasions. He approached food the way an artist approaches a canvas—studying ingredients, techniques, and pairings until he could create something unforgettable.

His dishes—stuffed calamari, shrimp Fra Diavolo, pork fried rice—fed both body and soul. Yet bread was his Achilles’ heel. Loaves, baguettes, and pizza dough always came out dense, like concrete. He laughed it off, calling it our family

That Pizza Place Tallahassee Dave and Dad

Me and Dad

curse. But he never stopped loving good bread, especially pizza crust. When he found an exceptional loaf, he’d dissect it, eager to understand what made it great. When we later moved to Florida, my father discovered Alfonso’s Pizzeria. To him, it was as close to authentic New York pizza as you could get. He introduced me to it like a sacred rite. The yeasty dough, tangy sauce, and smoky oven hit me like lightning. From that day on, pizza wasn’t just food—it was memory, ritual, and connection.

As I grew older, I carried my father’s love of cooking. I thrived on feeding friends and family, never shying away from big gatherings. Dough, however, remained my struggle. That changed during the pandemic. When a shipping mistake left me with a 55-pound bag of flour sitting upstairs in a rocking chair, I decided it was time to face my father’s “curse.”

I studied yeast, salt, water, and flour. I learned how pizza dough differed from bread and how Italian bakers honored centuries of tradition. Finally, I hauled down that giant bag, mixed my first dough, and baked my first pizza. It was far from perfect—misshapen, uneven, with sauce spilling over the edges—but the crust was edible. That was enough. So I tried again. And again. Each attempt was better. My toughest critic, my wife Kelly, asked for seconds even when she was full.

I discovered the truth my father always sought: quality ingredients change everything. They don’t just elevate a dish; they simplify it.

Building our community oven

That Pizza Place Tallahassee Building Pizza Oven

That Pizza Place Tallahassee Oven Building Team

As restrictions lifted, I shared pizzas with neighbors and friends. Soon, I became the neighborhood “pizza guy.” The joy I saw in others inspired me to keep going. We even built a community wood-fired oven, modeled after those found in Italian villages, where neighbors could bring their dough to bake and gather.

Before it was finished, I joined a friend on his final trip to Italy. For sixteen days, we ate pizza almost daily, walked miles through cobblestone streets, and spoke with pizzaiolos about their philosophy. Italians treat food as sacred—simple, balanced, communal. Their pizzas were light yet deeply satisfying, each bite reminding me that food is about connection.

When I returned home, I poured those lessons into our neighborhood oven. I began making pizzas for birthdays, holidays, and gatherings, supported by a small team of friends who still help me today. Later, I returned to Italy for formal training and brought those skills back to Tallahassee—teaching dough workshops, hosting events, and refining my craft.

Now, Kelly and I are sharing this passion on the road with our mobile wood-fired oven, bringing the joy of true pizza to our community. This journey—from my father’s kitchen in Texas, to a mistaken 55-pound bag of flour, to the ovens of Naples—has shaped me into a pizzaiolo dedicated to one thing above all: Quality.

We’re pouring all this passion and knowledge into Tallahassee’s newest mobile wood-fired pizzeria. This isn’t just pizza. It’s joy. It’s connection. It’s not just any pizza place—it’s That Pizza Place!