My Love for Pizza

If you ask my boyfriend what my favorite food is, he will without hesitation and with a smirk on his face say, "Pizza. Definitely pizza." I'll go ahead and deny that saying, "Well, I just love food, so it's hard to decide which I like best." He'll shake his head smiling even more and insist that pizza is, without contest, my favorite food. I know this is how he would react, because this exact scene has happened before.

We were at one of our mutual friend's house and his dad asked me if I wanted any desserts. My eyes probably bugged out of my head because I'd seen their assortment of cheesecakes, pecan pies and the like on their counter from earlier. My boyfriend (B from here on out) looked at me and said, "You know you want it." Which I felt I needed to explain to the rest of the people in the room because of the teasing tone involved, so I sighed and said, "Yeah, I love food." Which spurred his dad's question about what my favorite food is. I always have trouble answering this question, because I really do have so many favorites. Chicken parmisagna, pizza, burgers, ice cream, cookies, chips, the list goes on and I'm not the most decisive person in the world. B jumped in for me and said, "Pizza, definitely." And we're back to the beginning.

I think it's amusing that B can tell people what my favorite food is even when I'm in denial. I do love pizza a lot. I could probably eat it 5 days a week, or more. I prefer real pizza (because Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza Hut, etc. aren't real pizza if you ask me), but I'll take what I can get usually. New York and Philly have much better options with their excess of Italian restaurants, but I suck it up when I don't have those at my disposal. I do always like trying new pizza places around here in the hopes of finding a delicious pie that I can turn to when Pizza Hut disgusts me. The thing about the chain pizza places is I find I can only eat 2-3 pieces before I feel disgusting. Other pizza places...I could eat until there's none left. My aunt took me to a famous pizza place in Coney Island about 6 years ago (and now I feel old because it was a month before I went off to college), and she likes to tell the story of the last piece of the pie and how no one else could put it down but I did without hesitating. She told it this past weekend and it brings me a surprising amount of pride.

I often get surprised reactions when people discover my love for food and my capabilities in that regard, because I'm so small. "You're going to eat all that?" That really just inspires me to make sure I do it. Would hate to disappoint after such big talk.

Which brings me to how my pride in my eating abilities baffles my father (and B sometimes, too), who worries about my metabolism rate decreasing and the likes. Half the time I make jokes about my eating habits simply because it makes him laugh and shake his head. I know he can hold it down, too, and he has his own pizza-demolishing tales from when he worked in an italian restaurant and would eat people's leftovers when they were gone. So he really can't talk. Because that's just gross.

All of this stems from the fact that I am getting pizza tonight, and I just had it on Monday. I'm a fat kid at heart, I can't help it. The pepperoni and cheese calls me. B acts like he's embarrassed when I say stuff like that, but I think it's secretly endearing to him. Let me just keep telling myself that. I swear I'll go running this weekend.