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I believe everything gets better with garlic and cheese. Also, that the world truly needs a snack that behaves like New York pizza but is somehow less intimidating to make in sweatpants right now.

I am convinced this is the kind of comfort that deserves a parade. (Maybe a small one — potato-chip sized floats.)

How I Screwed This Up (and the smell haunted me)

Once, I tried to make these and somehow created a culinary crime scene: dough that was gummy in the center (squelch sound), sauce that slid off like it regretted its life choices, and a buttery garlic topping that burned only on the edges but not where it mattered. My oven decided to be dramatic that day — hot spots, cool spots, the whole opera. I remember the scent: like bread that had chosen melancholy and parmesan that was pretending to be rubber. Embarrassing? Yes. Do I tell strangers about it on the internet? Also yes.

I flung the pan (not literally but emotionally) and swore off rolling anything for a week. Then I ate cold cereal for dinner for three nights and ruminated about what a better roll should even be — flaky enough to show personality, gooey enough to forgive mistakes. Also, I kept thinking about how this would pair with other things I make (yes, my brain goes there), like the crispy garlic-parmesan halibut, which somehow makes me more confident? Don’t ask.

Why This One Actually Works (surprisingly)

This version works because I finally stopped trying to be theatrical. Emotionally: I accepted that not every roll needs to look photo-ready. Practically: I stopped over-saucing (less slosh), rolled tighter (no gummy centers), and brushed butter like I meant it. Small, stubborn changes — the little decisions that feel boring but do the heavy lifting.

Also, I let the cheese be loud. The balance of shredded mozzarella with that ½ cup of grated Parmesan gives texture and flavor contrast that my previous attempts lacked. That’s how these Garlic Parmesan New York Pizza Rolls learned to behave themselves: less performative, more honest. I am proud-ish. Also slightly suspicious this will all fall apart next time, but I’ve accepted the risk.

Stuff You’ll Need (and my nonsense notes)

1 pound pizza dough (homemade or store-bought)
1 cup marinara sauce
1½ cups shredded mozzarella cheese
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons butter, melted
1 tablespoon Italian seasoning
1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped (for garnish)

Budget-friendly? Use store dough and you’ll still feel fancy. Texture obsessed? Grate your own mozzarella (worth it). Can’t find fresh parsley? Dried will do in a pinch. Also, tiny confession: I sometimes add a sprinkle of red pepper flakes because I like to vibrate.

Cooking Unit Converter

Quick unit conversions for when you panic about teaspoons vs tablespoons and the metric apocalypse.

The Actual Rolling, Baking, Brushing Chaos

Start by rolling out your pizza dough into a large rectangle. Aim for about 12×16 inches to ensure you have enough space to layer your toppings.
Next, evenly spread the marinara sauce over the rolled-out dough. Make sure to leave a small border around the edges to prevent any messy spills during baking.
Generously sprinkle shredded mozzarella cheese over the marinara sauce, followed by half of the grated Parmesan.
Carefully roll the dough into a tight log, starting from one of the longer sides. Once rolled, slice it into even pieces, roughly 1-inch thick.
Place the sliced rolls into a greased baking dish. Make sure they’re arranged snugly but not overly crowded.
In a bowl, mix melted butter, minced garlic, Italian seasoning, and the remaining Parmesan cheese. Brush this mixture generously over each roll.
Preheat your oven to 375°F (190°C) and bake the rolls for 20-25 minutes, or until they turn golden brown and the cheese is bubbly.
Remove the rolls from the oven, garnish with fresh parsley, and serve warm. Enjoy the cheesy, garlicky goodness!

Non-linear explanation: don’t panic if your slices look uneven — character. If sauce leaks a little, that’s fine (clean-up later). TIP: brush more butter if you want that glossy, slightly scandalous finish. Also — and I say this like I learned it from regret — don’t overfill. You’ll thank me. Maybe.

Let’s Be Real — Does This Happen At Your Place?

You ever assemble something perfectly and then your kid (or cat, or partner) insists on helping and suddenly it’s modern art? I am leaning into chaos here, and you should too. Do you want perfectly uniform rolls or something that tastes heroic? Choose. (Choose wrong, and still eat them.)

If you need pairing vibes, these rolls are the kind of thing that plays well with punchy sides — or nothing, if it’s a Tuesday and you deserve a tearful, private dinner. Also, if you are into my other reckless garlic experiments, I once made a mash-up with garlic butter steak bites as the main event and rolls as the emotional support — ten out of ten chaos.

I want to hear disputes, confessions, and wild variations. Did you add olives? Great. Did you pretend the rolls were a diet item? Also great. I will cheer you on, judge silently, then steal one.

Common Things You’ll Ask (I Already Know)

Can I use frozen pizza dough? +

Yes. Thaw it according to package directions and then roll gently. I’m not a monster — frozen is fine.

How do I prevent soggy centers? +

Use less sauce at the start, roll tight, and don’t overcrowd the pan. Also trust me, letting the dough rest before slicing helps the structure.

Can I make these ahead of time? +

Absolutely. Assemble, then cover and refrigerate for a few hours (or bake from chilled with 5–7 extra minutes). If freezing, par-bake slightly first. Yes, I’ve done it; no, I don’t recommend freezing after baking unless you like chewy sadness.

Is there a vegetarian version? +

Yep — this recipe is already veggie-friendly (unless you add something naughty). You can toss in mushrooms, spinach, or caramelized onions. Choose adventure.

What if I want them crispier? +

Bake a little longer, broil for 30–60 seconds at the end (watch it like a hawk), or pop them into a skillet for a quick sear. Crisp wins hearts.

I’m emotional about food because it remembers things — birthdays, hangovers, the time I thought cheese could fix everything (it can, mostly). This recipe is a little love letter to forgiving dinners: imperfect, cheesy, and loud. Also, someone just texted me, so I have to—