Pizza Delivery is Passé

I remember the days when we used to phone for pizza to be delivered. It was a big deal; a special event. Couldn’t happen often enough.

Today, I can’t imagine why. Lukewarm. Greasy. Cheese like rubber. Dough like, well, dough or so tough you can’t bite or cut it.

If there’s no time to go to a restaurant where I can watch them make it from scratch and bake it in a wood oven while enjoying a glass of Chianti or Merlot, then I’ll make it myself. It’s not hard. Really. And I have to use those fresh tomatoes from the garden somehow.

When I got married at twenty I complained to my mother (an excellent cook) that she hadn’t taught me to cook. Five weeks in Home Econimics learning to bake cookies and knowing how to warm up hotdogs just didn’t seem like a very good basis. She looked me straight in the eye, handed me a cookbook and said, “We’ve paid for a good education, you’re intelligent, you can read, you’ve had chemistry classes: Here’s a good cookbook. Read it.”

She was right. Almost forty years later (and still married to the same person) I’m a good cook and I enjoy eating the fruits of my labors. Don’t like the clean up afterwards so much… And I learned something important about teaching myself and solving problems that I’m still applying today.

For anyone who says they wouldn’t have the time, well…

When I’m stuck on a programming problem or a solution for a project it always helps to get up from the keyboard and do something “mind-numbing”. Like chopping onions, washing the dishes or scrubbing the floor. Something about that provides the current for that lightbulb that pops on over my head regularly enough (but not today).

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