At times, my husband Richard can be a little over the top. When the new Italian restaurant in our neighborhood failed to deliver on it’s promise of serving authentic wood-fired Neapolitan pizza, he decided to take matters into his own hands. “Let’s build our own pizza oven” he said. Having been married to him for many years, I knew he wasn’t kidding. But I was skeptical. How often would we really use an oven that sits outdoors, when we live in Ohio? I’m talking a lot of snow! But he assured me we would use it often enough, and described all the wonderful dishes that we could make in it. Eventually I succumbed, and it wasn’t long after that the UPS man was wheeling a large wooden crate up our driveway from Forno Bravo.