Great Writing is like a Great Calzone

Whether it’s a written story or Italian cuisine, even the best ingredients need to be well layered

Once upon a time, in an ‘Italian’ restaurant surprisingly close to my house, I ordered a calzone. Because what could be better than a pizza cooked by an Englishman, and then turned into an oversized pasty?

I waited for my calzone with barely suppressed joy in my heart. God, I love a calzone. I could already picture the tomato, cheese and ham all sandwiched into one delicious savoury bite.

…I don’t eat out a lot.

When it arrived, it looked perfect. Golden-brown, beautiful smells, on a giant piece of slate for some reason. This was my heaven.

The waiter offered me pepper, which was odd, and left me to enjoy the culinary marvel. Or so I thought. On reflection, I suspect he was simply fleeing the scene of the crime.

For you see, when I took that first innocent bite, I did not enjoy a mouthful of tomato, cheese and ham all sandwiched into one. Instead, I got a mouthful of ham.

Which was peculiar. Calzones do not usually come with just ham. In my naivety I presumed this must simply be coincidence. A stroke of bad luck. An unfortunate incident where a cluster of ham had formed within the calzone, that I had just happened to hit. 

In short, I was willing to forgive.

But to my horror, what did I find in my next bite, but another mouthful of ham. I was aghast. And so, I did the unthinkable. I opened it up.

What I saw there will stay with me until my dying day.

Some monster, daring to call themselves a cook, had thrown a handful of tomatoes into the base of the calzone, followed by a fistful of cheese and roughly a wheelbarrow’s worth of ham.

It had resulted in three distinct sections to the calzone. Ham, cheese and tomato. No overlap, no blending of tastes. It was the Berlin Wall all over again.

I experienced a number of emotions. Disgust. Grief. Rage.

But now, years later, I’m willing to look back and think upon that dark time in my life with a new mindset. One of desperation for something to write about. But also one of sympathy.

Sure, that cook was a criminal. I don’t think I’ve hated anyone more in my life. But their mistakes weren’t fundamental to their talents. The individual parts of the dish had been cooked to perfection. It was in the assembly that the culinary war crime found its roots. 

And that’s a struggle I can relate to. 

Often when writing, I find that I have the raw ingredients to a good story. I can have great characters, a cool world, superb dialogue and absolutely staggering levels of humility. But when I put it all together, I can find it falls apart.

Many is the time that I have found myself assessing my work, thinking, 

“Well this part’s good.” 

“And so is this part.” 

“Man that’s hilarious.” 

“Great job, me.”

But only to come to the sticking point.

“So why doesn’t it work together?”

Stories are like a good calzone. The ingredients need to be layered, not separated. 

A whole chapter of great dialogue is going to bore the reader if it doesn’t include elements vital to the plot. A scene depicting how the intricately awesome magic system works is going to send the audience to Snoozeville if it doesn’t also include emotional beats.

So while that cook is hopefully swinging by a noose in some Italian village by now, I can thank them for the lesson they taught me, and the inspiration for this post.

Despite our amazing talents, only by combining the cheese of our characters, the tomatoes of our world-building, and the ham of our plots can we start to build great stories.