I started out disliking pizza because I can't stand marinara sauce or most things tomato-y. And, until fairly recently in American culture, pizza without marinara sauce didn't exist. These new razzle-dazzle pizzas brushed with olive oil or encrusted with tofu, or goat cheese (3 kinds!) that you can order today in fancier pizza restaurants just weren't around back when I was growing up.
Pizza was a slab of round dough, covered with bright red tomato sauce, then layered with mounds of cheese and/or various types of salty processed meat.
And I *loathed* it.
So when the Alternative Pizzas began showing up over the last 10 years or so (artichoke heart and pineapple pizza! WHEE), I thought, hey, maybe I'll finally find a pizza I like.
But I didn't. No matter how innocuous they made the pizza, I still couldn't stomach it.
Part of the problem is, I'm just not that fond of bread or anything remotely like bread. Don't get me wrong, I really love the stuff we layer *inside* sammiches. But you'll never hear me say,
"Man, I'd just LOVE to get sum BREAD in mah belly!".
Oh no. You're never going to hear those words leave my mouth. Now, you might hear me say, "Man, I'd just LOVE to get me sum POTATOES in mah belly."
In fact, I've been known to actually say those very words. And frequently, too.
But bread? Nope. As a matter of fact when eating a burger or a subway sandwich, I usually end up taking a few bites, then surreptitiously pull out the innards and eat all the yummy insides without the yucky floofy bread parts. I even rip the bread up a bit when in public and leave it scattered about on my plate, to make it look like I ate more of the bread than I did and thus avoid offending the sensibilities of all you bread lovers out there.
Then there's the salt issue. I'm not a big fan of salt. And pizza is incredibly salty. Whenever I'm cooking and I ask someone to taste my sauce or soup, they invariably suggest I add more salt. No matter how much salt I've already used, they always suggest more. For all you salt-heads out there, I salute you but I do not share your passion for the whitest of the seasonings.
No. No, I do not.
Plus, aesthetically speaking, I do not care for the way pizza tends to glisten. Have you noticed that? It...glistens. So shiny. Almost...obscene, in a way.
This is typically the point where I'm given an incredulous look and asked with disgust if I'm a Communist.
Oh please, that's just not true. Although, to give credit where credit is due, on paper Communism seems pretty cool. Everyone shares, just like in Kindergarten, one for all and all for one, just one big happy family together. But even I know that if you dig a little bit more into the reality of how Communism actually works it fails miserably as a viable form of government.
Unless you're one of the lucky few in the upper echelon class. In the society where there are no *cough* class *cough* divisions. *ahem*
So, no, I'm not a Commie just because I don't like Pizza. I'm a loyal American, I love our capitalism, I love being a mindless consumer, I love our freedom, I love being able to say, "Fuck YOU, American Government!" if I want to and not be dragged off to jail for being a dangerous political agitator.
stops and looks around
Well, I *think* I can still say that.
If this blog goes silent after this post, I guess we'll all know why.
So yes, I love being an American and I particularly love American food. I love fried chicken, steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, turkey, french fries, ham, scalloped potatoes, bacon, eggs-over-easy, fried potatoes, apple pie, hash brown potatoes, ice cream, baby red potatoes roasted with rosemary and olive oil, fruit salad, twice-baked potatoes, au gratin potatoes, potato soup, POTATO SALAD...OM NOM NOM NOM!
And I love international foods too, because I'm the kind of American who actually realizes there are *other countries* in the world outside America. Yes, yes, there are Americans like me who understand other countries exist, I know because I'm one of them. Rare though we are.
I love Japanese food, Chinese food, Italian food, Mexican food, Thai food, German, Indian, Spanish, and even French food. Even British food! I love a good shepherd's pie.
But no pizza.
However, this is a Pizza Loving World I live in and I accept that. I do. I know I'm in a very small minority group that is often eyed with suspicion. I'm a lot like that Goth kid back in high school; clothing and hair dyed black, wearing uber macro eye makeup, sitting in the back of the room picking sullenly at my dark purple fingernails during History class and hoping everyone was being suitably impressed by my obvious angst.
Definitely the odd one out when it comes to pizza.
Except, for me it's not by choice. I really wish I loved pizza too; it would make my life much easier.
I'm a fitter-inner; I don't like being the outcast.
But it's okay, really; not only have I come to terms with being different, but I support my Pizza Loving Friends and Family. Over the years, I've even ordered pizza for dinner when we've had people over. For one thing, it's the only food around here that is delivered cheaply and BONUS! Nobody has to cook. I love watching people enjoy their food, even if it's food I don't care for. I simply order a salad and/or pasta dish for me and everyone else can snarf up as much pizza as they want. Nommers.
So I never make a fuss when someone says they want to go to a pizza place. Although usually someone else in the family brings it up; "But Mom/Annie doesn't like pizza."
And I'm forced to explain once again that it's okay we are going to a pizza place, that I can find something else to eat there, really, it's not a big deal, please stop saying "we can go somewhere else if you want to, Annie" because that makes me feel bad.
I don't mind watching other people eat pizza; I just don't want any of it myself.
The other night we ended up at a pizza place for a family get-together and there were 9 of us there. Family, Happiness, Goodness YAY. Everyone ordered their nasty pizzas, with some meatball sandwiches on the side to boot (shudder, shudder) and I ordered my usual pasta with mushrooms, garlic and white sauce.
Our waitress brought "breadsticks" before the main course arrived; which were basically naked pizza crusts with cups of marinara sauce to dip them in. Rather horrifying for me but the platter was plunked down in the middle of the table and I was on the end, so I didn't have to look too closely at it.
So we're all talking and laughing, having a great time. Good times all around.
Then the pizzas came. Not on the flat platters that go down on the table as God intended platters to do but perched up on high on these pedestal platters that raised the pizzas up in the air.
So we could all get a super close-up shot of all that cheese and meat and shininess.
And the waitress plopped one tall platter of greasy pizza right in front of me.
I mean, like right under my nose.
Gulping, I feebly shoved the platter a little bit away and tried not to look at it.
Everyone else oohed and ahhed at the enormous amounts of glistening (except me) and everyone else started grabbing and passing around slices (except me) and everyone else began to devour their food and meatball sammiches (except me).
I kinda sat there in shock, trying to look at something other than the pizza. Which was seriously freaking me out.
My pasta didn't come. Several minutes went by while I waited and tried not to look at anything and my pasta still didn't come.
Just as I was about to hail our waitress, she showed up with a bowl, shoving it onto the table in front of me, right under the high-top platter of pizza. In fact, my bowl of pasta was actually shadowed, literally, by the pizza tower.
I looked down at my shadowed pathetic pasta and as usual they had gone overboard with the white sauce so it was swimming in a little soup of its own.
Not only had they completely drowned the pasta with goo, but they had also snuck in some freshly cut tomatoes.
Those sneaky pizza people and their tomato-fetish.
Because of the platter covering my plate, I had some difficulty getting my fork from the bowl of
The horror...the horror...