Pizza
I’m pretty much into food, but I’m still not sure about pizza. Obviously it makes a good snack, because a man on a moped will come to your door at whatever time of the night you become hungry. And obviously it makes for quite a nice meal to share, as it is easy to slice into roughly equal pieces and generally isn’t too messy to eat.
What I am still undecided about is whether I’d go out of my way to eat it. I mean, I don’t dislike it, but I’m not going to ask for a takeaway meat feast deep pan filled crust as a wedding favour.
The pizza we enjoy delivered to our doors bears little resemblance to the pizzas of Italy. This could be a good thing – the only pizza I ever ate in Italy was pretty terrible, and not something I’d ever rush to consume again. Pizzas in England, however, are a different meal altogether. They have deep stodgy bases and are topped with strong, artificial flavours. Packed with monosodium glutamate and very low grade meat, these things are warm and fatty. Normally the cheese isn’t very good, and sometimes isn’t even cheese at all. The ingredients refer to it as “cheese analogue” – what that means I don’t know and probably don’t want to.
Organisations like Pizza Express, to their credit, make quite nice pizzas in a not quite authentic way. You can tell that a proper oven has been used, rather than just a grill.
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