I LOVE Pizza


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I know that I’m an adult and should have much more refined taste in food than I did when I was a kid, but you know what? I love pizza. I cannot quit pizza. It is my very favorite food in the whole world. I mean, I have so many great recipes and know how to cook interesting, complex meals, but come Friday night I’m like a 19 year old freshman in college with a need for pizza. Oh gosh, I can practically taste Gumby’s right. now. Remember Gumby’s, my fellow Florida State alumni?? I can remember sitting in my dorm room with Allison #2 (I had 2 roommates my freshman year and they were both named Allison. So they will forever be known as Allison #1 and Allison #2 in my mind) and devouring an entire order of Pokey Sticks. And if you doubted my love for pizza, you don’t after reading this paragraph that has way too many italicized words in it.

These days I make the pizza we eat on Friday nights. I mean, I make the crust. I buy the sauce and the cheese. Come on, ain’t nobody got time for making homemade sauce. And because it’s important that I be able to make pizza at a moment’s notice, I stock my freezer with pizza size bags of shredded mozzarella and my pantry with jars of pizza sauce. Not kidding. Tonight Josh is gone working on a sermon and the kids are (finally) in bed and I thought, I know it’s Wednesday, but it is so a pizza night. And see? Aren’t I so glad I have all that sauce and cheese on hand?? No crust, but that’s ok, bagels will do in a pinch. I’m eating it right now. You don’t know how good it is.

And I guess maybe I just love pizza because it’s bad for you and delicious, but I think I also love it because it is a cherished part of my upbringing. Because you know who else loves pizza this much? My mom. And we ate the same homemade pizza that I serve to my family now every Friday night of my childhood. When she visits me or I visit her on the weekend we always revel in the fact that we get to eat the pizza without making the pizza. My dad and Josh shake their heads. Why are these crazy women so obsessed with pizza?? They’ve resigned themselves to it, though. Like it’s such torture to be served pizza once a week. Come on, guys.

But seriously, my best memories of my childhood, especially my teen years, come from the dinner table with my parents and my brothers. I loved dinner with my family. ‘Til the day I left for college. And then couldn’t wait to get back to it over Christmas and spring break. We talked. We laughed (a lot). We enjoyed each other. And it makes sense. Some of the best fellowship happens over a good meal, enjoying God’s provision and thanking him for it. Meals are how we celebrate and mourn and comfort and relax. It’s just an integral part of how we commune. And I learned all about that in the home.

So it’s something I definitely strive for. I so desire to make dinner every night like my mom did. To faithfully provide good food for my family to fellowship over. Truthfully? I’m not so great at it yet. At least half the time we feed our kids chicken nuggets and we eat after they go to bed. But we’re getting there. Honestly, I think one of the biggest struggles, and I think this is true for a lot of women today, is I just expect way too much of myself. My mom did not have the food network, the cooking channel, facebook, pinterest, instagram or anti-anything-that-wasn’t-grown-in-your-garden websites. She wasn’t constantly bombarded with famous chefs, thousands of pins and pictures of other people’s awesome gourmet food. She had a rotation of meals that were good and simple and that’s what we ate. And we loved it.

Oh, don’t get defensive. Of course you should try new recipes and take advantage of the millions of ideas you can get at the click of a mouse (or touch of a screen. It’s not 1999, Katie). I’m honestly a better cook because of Ina Garten and The Pioneer Woman. It’s helpful. But don’t heap unrealistic expectations on yourself, and don’t think that the most important thing is that you make awesome, super-healthy, gourmet food. (Unless you or your kids have food allergies. In which case it is totally important). Looking back on all those family dinners together, I honestly don’t remember a ton about the food. Well, except the pizza, obviously.  The important thing was that we were together at dinner. That is the thing that remains for me. Well, that and an slightly unhealthy obsession with pizza.

(I was going to take a picture of my bagel pizza for this post but I ate it already. Whoops.)


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