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.