Until I was seven years old, I did not like the piles of food touching on my plate. The food had to social-distance. The mashed potatoes could not touch the carrots or any other vegetable. And it was the same for the other piles of food. I have no idea where this obsession came from. I became so upset that I could not eat if the piles of food were not social-distancing.
My parents did their best to accommodate me when putting food on my plate. They made sure that the piles of food did not touch.
Once, when I was seven, my father put carrots on my plate and they touched the mashed potatoes. How upsetting! My father said, “I’m sorry. It was an accident. But what do you think the food will look like in your stomach?”
My father’s question hit me like a sack of potatoes. I was no longer upset. I thought, “What will the food on my plate look like in my stomach?” And from then on, I no longer cared whether the piles of food on my plate socially-distanced.
The last time I had pizza, the authorities were investigating Noah for allegations of unsanitary conditions on his ark. I had an oven back then. Now I have stovetop burners, but no oven. No oven. No pizza.
The other day I craved pizza. I am a vegetarian and do not eat cheese. Try finding a veggie pizza with no cheese. Try finding any pizza with no cheese.
Imagine my joy when I saw a veggie pizza with no cheese. This pizza also had one of my favorite toppings: fried mosquito eyelids.
My immediate impulse was not to buy the pizza. “I don’t have an oven,” I said to myself.
And then a voice in my head said, “You can cook it in a pot.”
“But it won’t fit,” I said.
“Of course it won’t fit,” said the voice. “Cut it up into pieces so it does fit, and then add a little olive oil and cook it.”
“But I am used to eating slices of pizza from an oven,” I said.
“That’s fine,” said the voice, “but what do you think it is going to look like in your stomach?”
I bought the pizza and discovered that pot-cooked pizza tastes just as good as pizza from the oven.