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.
