My mother used to tell me that I would never starve as long as frozen pizza existed. It was certainly true at the time, though regular readers know that my repertoire has expanded somewhat.
But, frozen pizza definitely figured into my culinary upbringing. Mom worked second shift, so when I was a teenager she wasn’t around to make dinner for Dad and me. I was the last kid in the nest after my siblings flew away. Dad had retired fairly young (don’t be impressed, it was a good government pension, nothing more). So, it was just us guys once I got home from school.
The old man and I would often eat in shifts, both of us just grabbing something from the fridge. Once our small Midwestern town hit the big time we were able to go down to the KFC for chicken. Hey, it was front-page news in our local newspaper: “World Discovers Us! KFC Coming.”
Or words to that effect, in big bold type.
But, the freezer was always well stocked with frozen pizza. It was a staple on the grocery list and it was dinner a couple times a week.
Frozen pizza was the first thing I could make that even approached the status of a family meal. It was also a snack, often shared with Mom when she got home from working at the hospital at 11pm.
In college, I had a roommate in a small basement apartment. He hated cooking as much as I hated cleaning. So, we struck an obvious bargain.
Frozen pizza was a staple on the shopping list and it was dinner a couple times a week. Again. Mom thought her saying about frozen pizza and my ability to stave off starvation was vindicated.
No recipes this week on Food, Family Friday. I’m sure you can figure out how to cook a frozen pizza. This is more of a food musing than a regular post. I’ll be back in form next week.
I think about frozen pizzas as I return to blogging because it’s a food connection to my mother. She passed away a week or so ago. If you get a chance this weekend, raise a slice to Gloria Thompson.