But you didn’t first check to see if you’d live within shoe-leather distance of a decent pizza joint? Because you can’t just call and have one delivered.
Yes, uptown is wall-to-wall with nationally sponsored fast-food drive-thru’s spinning neon tiled playing pieces and toga-draped Romans. But those eateries only produce a pizza-like substance to be consumed with two liter’d high-fructose corn syrup and plasticware (delivered in thirty minutes or less).
Sure, you may be just as full, but not satisfied. If you’re hungry… next time, whip up a bowl of oatmeal.
Because, just as a symphonic masterpiece no longer is once crammed through transistors and earbuds, so a pizza cannot be summoned by app or emoji, and bartered for with coupons.
Gluttony may be a sin, but frozen pizza is sacrilege.
And those cardboard discs stacked at minimum wage in ShopRite’s frost bite aisle – if they ever were pizzas, at sub-zero… they ceased to be.
There’s a price to be paid for convenience.
The Interstate gets you from point A to where you want to be in socially-distanced climate-controlled ease. But what you’ll never see are the covered bridges, old stone churches, and antique shops that color the local scenery of the two lane blacktop.
Those who would give up authentic flavor to purchase a little temporary satisfaction, deserve neither flavor nor satisfaction.
And don’t even get me started on toppings like pineapple.
There’s a difference between improving life, and cheapening it. As any man who works with his hands will tell you, shortcuts tend to become expensive do-overs.
Because a pizza is not just dough coated with tomato sauce, cheese, and choice toppings.
It could be, but it’s not.
…unless baked in an obscure downtown brick-oven outlet laced with indecipherable accents, no parking, and fewer tables.
An aromatic symphony must be experienced, not tracked on an app. Order in person. Pay in cash. Then wait quietly (don’t fiddle with your phone) and savor the tasteful melody.
And as the finale evaporates in a delectable wisp, discreetly fade away into the night… as old world gents leer skeptically through the smoky haze at your Bermuda shorts.
Don’t call ahead.
Don’t request delivery.
Don’t ask how much.
…you can, but don’t.
Not if you want a pizza.
Have It Your Way!
What kind of God would you like? We have: God is Love,
Our Mother Who Art in Heaven, and Somewhere Out There.
It’s not just about bacon. It’s about soda straws, and Big Gulps ™, and pancakes topped with whipped cream and blueberries.