Fond Memories Of Pizza-In-A-Box
Za-za-ZING! What a mind trip! Whoo, baby - those twenty-five-year-old
memories are something ELSE, eh? I connected for just a moment with
my grade-school self, watching Mother (not Mom, not Mommy, not Mama,
but Mother with a capital M) whip up a tasty Chef Boyardee pizza in
our tastefully decorated (almond and avocado appliances) 1970's
kitchen. Mix up the wonderfully wholesome ersatz pizza dough, try to
spread it on the pan without tearing holes in its 1 mm thickness..
Then, the high point! Open up that skinny little can of bright red
MSG sauce! Sniff the toxic brew as the can opener takes that first
delicious bite and releases the fumes with a contented PSHHHHH! Then,
cook the whole mess at 870 degrees for three days (or so it seemed),
filling the whole house with the delightfully tempting aroma - when
the oven door opened, we wolfed that S&*^-on-a-shingle down and
CLAMORED FOR MORE! Alas, we were told that we'd have to Wait For
Another Day before having another one of those scrumptious treats.
So, we cleaned off the table and ran outside to play, tummies warmed
by a pizza-like concoction made up of chemicals that would get Dow
shut down by the EPA these days.
Right now, we've got about a dozen of those pre-made frozen cardboard
pizzas in the deep freeze, and the eldest can wield the can of Pam and
cook one of them up at a moment's notice. The kids scarf them down in
minutes and would eat six of them at a pop if I'd let them. As for me,
I wouldn't feed something like that to the CAT.
Must be some kind of 'circle of life' thing...