On Cold Pizza —
Who eats cold pizza? I do. And as I finished a leftover slice this morning, I considered just what it is that makes it so satisfying, that makes me feel so good?
Here’s what it is not – it is not flavorsome; it is not appetizing; it is neither yummy nor succulent, nor juicy (thank you, thesaurus). Just close your eyes and imagine thick cardboard topped with a congealed, slightly-chewy layer of wallpaper paste, and, every once-in-a-while, the bite of a hot pepper.
Oh, I know I could put it in the microwave. I could even use my new-found method of re-heating it in a skillet. That might make it taste better, but it wouldn’t be the same. No, cooking/heating it up would be what a grown-up would do, an adult who actually might want a slice of pizza that tasted, however faintly, like pizza.
I realized that what made the whole experience, might I say, delicious, is that eating cold pizza, right out of the refrigerator, is totally non-adult. And that’s why I like it. It’s that deliciously irresponsible feeling that I experience not nearly enough. Wicked, impish, playful, I love it.
And don’t we all deserve that in our ordered, call-or-write-your-senators days. Well, hell, yes! So now I leave these pages to make a list of more free and waggish tasks. Oh, wait, I guess it isn’t too free to make a list. Nor to call impishness tasks. What can I say. I am a creature of well-defined habit.
So, here’s to cold pizza and drinking orange juice right out of the carton. Tomorrow the world!