pizza

It was Saturday morning.

I know, I am retired, I can shop any day of the week, but I often save a few errands for Saturday because I plan on a lunch date with my daughter. This week she was somewhere else, and the thought of another PB& J  sandwich at home was not what I wanted. I wanted pizza. I told my husband I was off to run errands and would come home with pizza. Lunch and breakfast in this household are YOYO (You’re  On Your Own) so I had to warn him. It sparked the “I remember” moment in both of us. At our age, we have a lot of “I remember” moments. At least, I tell myself…. I do remember some things.

What better thing to write about while I am sitting here, my mouth watering for a pizza.

He remembered the first pizza he had ever had —as a student at MIT and living in a fraternity. The guys all went out for pizza, his first. He liked it well enough that on one of our early dates, he took me out for my first pizza. It is odd that we had not encountered such a meal before. Well maybe not. In my family, we never went out for a meal. We did, however go out for “gudgies” (ice cream sundaes) in the summer.

We both remember a trip to Verona, Italy, once, when the rest of the passengers on the ship were headed to what a fellow passenger labeled ABC… and translates to “Another Bloody Church.” We opted for a side trip to Lake Garda. We walked along the waterfront enjoying the view and the various outdoor restaurants. I saw a pizza being served and decided, then and there, that was where we were going to eat. I ordered my pizza, and Sea ordered sea food salad. I think he was expecting what might look like a tuna salad. What he got, was a bowl of shelled items, unidentifiable by us, somewhat heated up. Shelled sea food was not on his “like”  list, so his lunch consisted  my “pizza bones”, what my by grandson, Alex, calls pizza crusts.

In France, in LaRochelle, along the water front, we saw café after café offering mussels. We sat at a table and had a glass of wine, but by the time the place was open for lunch, they seemed to ignore our table and our desire to have a lunch. Besides mussels, we didn’t see anything else on the menu. In fact, I am not sure we even saw a menu. We paid for the wine and wandered down the water front. Aha… an Italian pizza place. So there we were, in France, eating a pizza. There is something wrong with that.

But, as I wrote last week, I’m outta here. I know a good place to find a pizza. We can enjoy it at home, and reminisce on our other travels, where we did enjoy other ABC trips and the local food.

Shall I mention the ten dollar coke I bought in Helsinki, because the clerk, and I, didn’t know the value of American money and I didn’t understand theirs.

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4 Responses to pizza

  1. Tara says:

    I love the way your memories wound around pizza – even pizza bones! Your experience in LaRochelle reminded me of so many lazy afternoons in the South of France, enjoying mussels and wine and the company of our family. P.S. I hope you found some awesome pizza!

  2. Linda Baie says:

    Well I love your term “YOYO” & shall note it in my notebook-fun, fun. I, like Tara, loved the weaving around pizza memories, choice or not. It’s fun to have that instant connection with someone who was there with you, sharing a moment, whether good, or interesting, or not. And finally, in addition to saying thank you for the fun slice, where in the world did ‘gudgie’ come from?

  3. MaryHelen says:

    I agree with Linda, I love your term “YOYO”. Isn’t it wonderful how one memory connects to another? You did a wonderful job sharing your many short stories all held together with pizza. Delicious!

  4. Tam says:

    Thanks for revving up my mind for new writing ideas. Food is a greater motivator for many things!!!

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