Friday night. You just left the bar, definitely not sober. You tell your slightly less drunk friend you NEED pizza. Right now. Lucky for you, she obliges, holding your arm as you wobble and sway down the sidewalk, giggling together. Finally, you get your piece of pizza and take a monstrous bite. The drunkenness increases the pleasure tenfold and every bite is actually a religious experience. Drunken pizza is the best pizza. Before you know it, the pizza is gone and you hardly remember eating it. Somehow, you wake up in your bed with only a vague memory.
Saturday morning. You stumble out of bed, hungover as fuck and starving. After the necessary ten glasses of you swing open the fridge, your tender eyes blinded by the light, and get out the leftover pizza box, shutting the fridge as quickly as possible. Sitting in bed with the curtains drawn, you pull out the first cold slice. The cheese and grease have congealed from the cold, and somehow it seems healthy. It’s refreshing and you scarf it down, throbbing senses overwhelmed. Nothing like eating pizza with a hangover.
It’s Sunday, you’re home for a visit, and you slept so late, its lunch time. The family had pizza delivered the night before, and you pull out a foil wrapped slice from the fridge.
Normally you’d just eat it cold, but your dad wants everything to be the best, so he puts it in the toaster for you. You’re starving and don’t want to wait, but you humor him and wait anyways. Your stomach grumbles and you check after 30 seconds. Not done yet. In anticipation you start munching on cereal; you want satisfaction NOW. Eventually you convince yourself to just check twitter and Instagram and eventually you hear the ding. Spring out of the chair and race to the toaster oven to see the cheese bubbling the perfect amount and with urgency you throw it on a plate.
It’s not quite too hot to pick up and you bite into it. The bottom has the perfect texture of soft but crispy. The cheese is melted and gooey, sliding across your taste buds. You take another bite, the aroma of the sauce wafting into your nostrils making it better. You look down at the delectable slice mid bite and it looks like perfection. Finally, you’ve reached the end and bite into the crust; it bows under the power of your teeth before succumbing with a crunch into your mouth. It’s soft and crunchy and perfect and you nearly want to moan with pleasure, but your stepmom is just across the room so you resist. Two bites left. Half is pure crust and half is the cheesy sauce combo.
You’re not sure which is better so you fold it up and sink your teeth into it, getting the best of both worlds. It’s gone. You sit there for a moment, and determine a sober pizza is the best pizza.
But you’re wrong on all accounts. Pizza is the best. Period. Drunk, sober, hungover, sad, happy, angry, it’s perfection. Let’s just eat pizza for every meal. After all, it is a vegetable.