When The Moon Hits Your Thighs

Winter is upon us and so are the pizza cravings. I would say that I am just trying to put on a little winter weight, but squirrels have taught me that I was supposed to have done this during the fall and I should be fasting right now. Instead, all I can think of is pizza.

I used to be satisfied with any ol' pizza. This was back in my elementary school days. I didn't care what kind of pizza it was, I just wanted the pizza. Probably more than french fries, probably less than a lollipop jewel ring. It wasn't until I heard my dad saying that Chuck E Cheese's pizza tasted like cardboard that I started to think about what the pizza really tasted like. I still ate whatever was put in front of me, but those slanderous words would haunt me the rest of my life.

Oh so slowly I began to turn against fast food pizza. The crust was too thick, or the sauce too sweet or our house was the last on the delivery route and the cheese had already begun to revert back to plastic. Still, the cravings persisted, although with less frequency.

Pizza restaurants have renewed my cheesy interests. Thin crust pizza truly made when you order it. Hawaiian pizza is awesome, but lately I have had a love for a tomato sauce pizza with cheese, mushrooms, basil and thin tomato slices. Big fat basil leaves would vastly improve the fast food world.

Then, last Christmas I went to a cheap pizza buffet with family. Perfect way to fill up kids high off of present opening. I turned my nose up to most of the pies and had decided to stick with water when a hot fresh pepperoni jalapeno pizza was laid out in front of me. One slice and I was hooked. Half a pizza later and I was ready for a nap. And a gallon of water.

It took a couple of more visits and a friend getting a bladder infection from overdosing on bread to realize the pizza really did taste a bit like pepperoni jalapeno cardboard. Finding my perfect pizza restaurant sealed the deal. Unfortunately, the golden pie is 30 minutes away, which is close enough for an indulgence every month or two but far away enough to give me time to decide that I do want to cook dinner.

Wow, I have to stop writing this now or I am going to have to make a pizza out of... celery. I have got to learn how to make my own pizza and then keep those ingredients onhand. Maybe Karl wouldn't mind driving a half hour out of his way when he comes home tonight. Maybe I should make a vegetable stew - I've put on 3 pounds of weight this winter, most of which I suspect is my Italian addiction. Enough! Vegetable stew it is! Or maybe barbeque.