Friday, April 16, 2010

Food For Thought: The Intimacy of Pizza

Ok. I lied. Strawberries will be for another Friday, promise. Today let's do pizza.

I went to Pizza Fushion tonight for supper (it was 5 o'clock). And en lieu of my recent meal, the flavors still swimming around palette, I thought I should write what I just ate therefore providing a more sincere thought to my food.

So grab a chair, let's sit.

Pizza: when I think of pizza I think of groups. A slice for each, and if you're lucky a second or third, though depending on how many pizzas you got, a second slice could be quite disrespectful to your company. Sharing is caring people.

Pizza is a shared dish, most of the time. Personally, I think personal pizzas are a cop-out and completely go against the true nature of the pizza. It's a shared commodity and one that forces you to come into agreement over its toppings.

Toppings can say a lot about a person just like many other decisions we make as individuals: shoes, clothes, coffee drinks, etc. But when there's two individual tastes involved it can go either of two ways: massive heated debate and defense against why olives are God's gift to pizza and in the end two personal pizzas are ordered, OR the compromise. The half pizza can be established, half olives and green peppers one side and the other half mushrooms and pepperonis.

The half-line can bring two distinctive tastes together. The pizza now a colorful tribute to two people who have decided to share their meal. On occasion, an olive will find its way across the half-line and touch your pepperonis and you might try it, seeing what your company think is so heavenly, and you chew the odd texture and process the tarty aftertaste. Your mind screams at you to never, ever, let that vail-of-a-thing called an olive ever, ever to be placed in your mouth again, and it continues to whimper about the fact that it will take like 5 toothbrush scrubs to get the taste off of your tongue and your stomach decides to join the pity act and start pretending it can't digest because of the olive,


you look across the table to your friend, best friend, sister, cousin, boyfriend, and smile. Nod your head and smile because you tried because you cared.

The pizza is shared by those you choose to share it with. It's an intimate affair that often gets overlooked. (Hence my dislike for the rather cold option of getting your personal pizza)

Each slice commences another delicious chew and another moment to look across the table above your plane of cheese and hills of toppings smiling because good food and good company is something worth smiling about.

So if you live in San Diego, call up Madera pizza, located right across from Windmill Farms. Order the New York Giant. And then call LOTS of friends.


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