I made calzones. I did. Despite my hatred of cooking, sometimes I like to cook, so I perused some recipes and then devised my own from bits and pieces of what I found. Usually when I do this dinner is ruined, but this recipe turned out great.
White Whole Wheat Bread Machine Dough Calzones That You Eat With Those Teeth of Yours
Put ingredients in your bread machine in this order:
water, flour, basil, salt, sugar, yeast, oil
Slap it on the dough cycle and watch it the entire time. Pee breaks are acceptable.
After it beeps at you, dump it into an oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let it rise for about 30 minutes somewhere quiet and warmish so the yeast can go through its weird, freakish process. Again, don’t take your eyes off of it or it won’t work. You can’t even take a potty break this time.
After 30 minutes, dump it on your lightly floured counter, and knead it 3.6 times. Break the dough into 4 pieces and roll a piece out into a circle. I like to say a little prayer at the dough and kiss it before putting the next ingredients in.
Slather a little pizza sauce inside (not too much or apparently the calzones will explode from the buildup of liquid. Fun!) Sprinkle on a handful of mozzarella, a smaller handful of parmesan, 6 cute little pepperonis, then fold it in half.
NOTE: This makes 4 giant calzones. You can certainly make 8 smaller calzones by ripping the dough into 8 pieces instead of 4. This would be much more civil, and what I plan to do next time.
Lick or drool on the edges of the dough and press a fork down into them to seal them together. Place them on an oiled pan and slather beaten egg on top. Woah, Betty, these are gonna be good.
Shove them into the oven for about 10 minutes, until they are golden brown and scream to come out. (My oven always seems to be off on the times, so keep an eyeball on them.) Serve with extra pizza sauce for dippin’. Don’t burn your dumb tongue on the innards.