Pizza - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The pizza base was an inch thick and as white as my unfinished term paper. The sauce tasted like it came out of a can, a cheap one, and the topping was generous but greasy. Overly thick slices of pepperoni sat in pools of grease from the cheese. The only colour came from the shards of red pepper on top, likely the only edible thing on the plate if you didn't mind the oils on them too. One bite was enough, more than enough...
The pizza was as big as the wheels on my truck. It was thin crust with feta cheese, olives and fresh tomatoes- a “Greek” I think they call it. The dough was wholewheat but you couldn't really tell, certainly the kids couldn't. They ate it just the same and asked for more.
The pizza is one of those cheap ones mothers buy in bulk for quick meals, or at least mine does, maybe you're better fed. It's small, disappointingly so, perhaps four inches across. When I cut it from the clear plastic with my kid sister's school scissors I take a closer look. There is barely any cheese at all, it's a red disk of tomato puree with less cheddar than I'd put on a single cracker. The base is white of course, I'll digest that in a few seconds and be hungry again. Time to make this sucker gourmet. I open the fridge feeling like Gordon Ramsay, inspired, but with a fair measure of inner rage to find no cheese, no meat, just some wrinkly mushrooms. Dammit, I hate being poor. How am I supposed to keep my grades up on this crap? I open another four and put them in the oven, looks like the best me and Stacey are getting tonight.
The pizza was supposed to be gourmet. Ryan poked at it with the fork. It looked like something from the nineteen seventies, too much dough, too much topping. It was less appetizing than the plate it was on. He took out his phone and sent it's picture to all hi friends, it was about all it was good for- a few LOL's and OMG's. Not really worth twenty dollars but what could he do? His girlfriend worked there, refusing to pay would be a really bad move. Perhaps she'd made it herself.
The pizza didn't so much sit on the plate as fester on it. Around the edges there was orange grease and it was soggy to the touch. Kevin considered his options. Eat what his sister had made or make her upset. Then for sure he'd be making the dinner tomorrow night instead. There was nothing for it but a taste test, eyes closed, one bite, how hard could it be?
The pizza was pizzeria perfect. How could it be anything else from Dad. He could make bread like no-one else and he used a pizza stone. There were even herbs in the dough. Like all his other home-baking it was mostly wholewheat, yet still so light. The sauce had chunks of tomato and the topping was three cheeses. There was nowhere in the world that sold pizza like this, and even if they did it wouldn't be as good. This was pizza her father made, what could be better than that?
There was nothing better than the pizza at Dario's. The base was the perfect combination of light inside and crunchy on the bottom. The toppings were fresh and fragrant. It was the only place I could think of to take Jenny for our first date. Not so posh she felt intimidated and not so down-market she felt cheated. Everyone knows we live in the big house, but I can't have her think I'm a snob or too expensive to date.
The pizza had probably been just great yesterday when it was fresh. Now the crust was like cardboard and the cheese looked like fat gone hard. It was about as appealing as cold oatmeal.
Homemade, wholegrain dough in bread machine, bag of homemade vegetable tomato sauce out of the freezer, tin of black pitted olives to slice, grate mozzarella cheese, roll dough on greased, floured tray, add toppings. Bake at 400 degrees celsius for 24 minutes, house fills with delicious aroma of a wintery Friday night, wholesome, made with love, sharing with family, soul-food.