One of my co-workers said to me the other day, “Oh, I bet you don’t eat pizza.”
I love pizza. LOVE LOVE LOVE pizza. I just don’t eat Dominos. Or Pizza Hut. Or anything that is going to make me feel like a literal couch potato of sluggishness.
But when the pizza is on a delicious thin ‘n crispy, or chewy ‘n doughy, handmade crust, and you can actually taste the flavor of each delicious ingredient, and the topping & sauce ratio to cheese is so high that you barely even know there is cheese on it…
Well, then I will eat quite a few pieces.
In fact, at Rebecca‘s birthday dinner at Salvation Pizza last night, I ate three. (One of the above “#3″ featuring eggplant, sundried tomatoes, and artichoke hearts, and two of the “Special Rebecca Request” with artichoke hearts, sundried tomatoes, spinach, and mushrooms.)
Oh, and then I ate three more pieces partygoers had left on their pizza stands that I proceeded to smuggle home sandwiched in between paper plates. ["You could get a to-go box you know." "Yeah, I could."]
Not when it was that good.
So yes. I ate six (and a half, I think) pieces of pizza. Possibly aided in the endeavor by the 1/3 of a carafe of red wine I drank with it.
And aside from the Tums I needed at 2 in the morning, and the strange dream about Hanson* I had last night….I feel really good about it.
*Taylor was there. Ike was there. Zac, too. It was weird.