I just finished reading the previous blog's post about pizza, and it got me thinking about my personal love affair with this darn-near perfect food. In particular, I remembered the first time I ever tasted pizza...
It was 1961, and my family and I were at the old Lorain Drive-In Theater, watching I don't recall what. Back then, they often ran contests at the drive-in, giving away snack items or free admissions to future showings. They gave tickets to each car that entered, and the winning ticket was drawn at intermission, with the number given over the speakers.
Well, that night, we won, and my ma went to the concession stand, returning in a few minutes with a flat, white box, from which exuded a heavenly aroma. At five, I'd never smelled anything like that, but I KNEW I wanted some of whatever it was.
Ma handed me a wedge-shaped slice, laying hot on a small stack of napkins, redolent with cheese and pepperoni. I bit into it, uncaring that the cheese was scorching my mouth-where had this BEEN all my life? I scarfed that slice down like nothing, and had two more, savoring this new delight.
I've had many a pizza since that summer night in '61, but none has tasted better, or been as memorable...may the next slice you raise be as good.